#than it is to hire someone new & familiarize them w/ the organization.

[satellitedyke]

funny to me that i'm entirely unqualified for my current position at my job. I've got ppl asking me questions like i'm an expert when I barely know what anything means

[girlsandboystown]

5 Essential Qualities to Look for in an Electrician Near Me

Finding a reliable and skilled electrician is crucial for electrical work. Whether you need to repair faulty wiring, install new fixtures, or upgrade your electrical system, hiring someone with the right qualifications is essential. But with so many options, how do you choose the right electrician near you? In this article, we will explore the five essential qualities to look for in an electrician near me. From experience to certifications, we'll delve into what sets a top-notch electrician apart. We'll also discuss the importance of excellent communication skills and the ability to provide reliable and efficient service. So, if you need an electrician and want to ensure you hire the best, keep reading to discover the essential qualities to look for.

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Qualifications and certifications to consider When searching for an electrician near me, it's essential to consider their qualifications and certifications. A reputable electrician will have the necessary licenses and certifications to work in your area. These certifications prove that they have undergone the required training and have met the standards set by the industry. One necessary certification to look for is the Electrical Contractor License. This license ensures that the electrician has met the qualifications and standards set by the licensing board. It indicates that the electrician has the necessary knowledge and skills to perform electrical work safely and effectively. Additionally, certifications from professional organizations such as the National Electrical Contractors Association (NECA) or the Electrical Safety Authority (ESA) can also indicate an electrician's expertise and commitment to staying up-to-date with industry standards. These certifications demonstrate a willingness to go above and beyond the basic requirements and stay current with the latest advancements in the field. Before hiring an electrician, ask for proof of their qualifications and certifications. A reputable electrician will be more than willing to provide this information, giving you confidence in their abilities and expertise.

Experience and expertise in electrical work While qualifications and certifications are essential, experience is equally crucial when hiring an electrician. An experienced electrician has encountered various electrical issues and developed the skills and knowledge to handle them effectively. When an electrician has years of experience, they are more likely to have encountered situations similar to yours. This means they can quickly diagnose and solve problems, saving you time and money in the long run. Additionally, their experience allows them to work efficiently, completing projects promptly without compromising quality. Furthermore, an experienced electrician is likelier to have a good reputation in the industry. They have built a track record of delivering high-quality work and excellent customer service. You can trust that an electrician with years of experience has earned the respect and trust of their clients through their consistent performance. When evaluating electricians, don't hesitate to ask about their experience and the types of projects they have worked on. A reputable electrician will be proud to share their knowledge and showcase their expertise.

Reliability and professionalism When it comes to electrical work, reliability is critical. You want an electrician who will arrive on time, complete the job as promised, and deliver results that meet or exceed your expectations. Reliable electrician values their clients' time and understands the importance of sticking to deadlines. Furthermore, professionalism is an important quality to consider when hiring an electrician. A professional electrician will treat you and your property with respect. They will communicate clearly and effectively, keeping you informed throughout the process. They will also maintain a clean and organized work area, minimizing disruptions to your daily routine. One way to gauge the reliability and professionalism of an electrician is by reading reviews and testimonials from past clients. Online platforms such as Google, Yelp, or Angie's List can provide valuable insights into the experiences of others who have hired electricians. Additionally, don't hesitate to ask for references from the electrician. Speaking directly to past clients can give you a better understanding of the electrician's work ethic and professionalism.

Excellent communication and customer service skills Clear and effective communication is essential when working with an electrician. It ensures that both parties are on the same page, reducing the likelihood of misunderstandings and errors. An electrician with excellent communication skills will listen attentively to your needs and concerns and answer any questions. Furthermore, good customer service is a hallmark of a top-notch electrician. From the initial consultation, a skilled electrician will prioritize your satisfaction. They will be responsive to your inquiries, provide regular updates on the project's progress, and address any issues promptly and professionally. To assess an electrician's communication and customer service skills, consider how they interact with you during the initial consultation. Are they attentive and responsive to your questions? Do they take the time to explain things clearly? Additionally, consider their availability and response time. A reliable electrician will communicate promptly and ensure you feel valued as a client.

Safety and adherence to electrical codes and regulations A reputable electrician understands that safety should be a top priority in electrical work. They will have a deep understanding of electrical codes and regulations and will adhere to them strictly. Following these guidelines ensures that the work is done safely and complies with industry standards. An electrician prioritizes safety and will take the necessary precautions to protect you, your property, and yourself. This includes using the appropriate safety equipment, following proper procedures, and conducting thorough inspections to identify potential hazards. When hiring an electrician, don't hesitate to ask about their commitment to safety. Please inquire about their safety measures during work and how they ensure that their installations and repairs meet the required safety standards. A reputable electrician will be more than willing to address your concerns and provide assurance that your safety is their top priority.

Reviews and references from past clients One of the best ways to gauge the quality of an electrician's work is by reading reviews and testimonials from past clients. These firsthand accounts can provide valuable insights into the electrician's expertise, professionalism, and customer service. Online platforms such as Google, Yelp, or Angie's List are great resources for finding reviews of local electricians. Take the time to read these reviews and pay attention to both the positive and negative feedback. While a few negative reviews are uncommon, looking for overall trends and patterns is essential. If a particular electrician consistently receives positive feedback and glowing testimonials, it's a good indication of their quality of work. Additionally, don't hesitate to ask the electrician for references from past clients. Speaking directly to these references can give you a better understanding of what it's like to work with an electrician. Ask about the quality of their work, their professionalism, and their ability to meet deadlines. This information will help you decide when choosing an electrician near you.

Availability and response time Electrical issues can arise unexpectedly and require immediate attention. Therefore, hiring a readily available electrician who can respond promptly to your requests is essential. When evaluating electricians, inquire about their availability and response time. Do they offer emergency services? How quickly can they address your electrical needs? A reliable electrician will have systems in place to ensure that they can respond to urgent requests promptly. Remember that while availability and response time are essential, they shouldn't be the sole determining factor in your decision. The quality of work and the other qualities discussed in this article should also be considered. Balancing these factors will help you find an electrician who can promptly and effectively meet your needs.

Cost transparency and fair pricing While it's essential to consider the cost of electrical services, it's equally important to prioritize transparency and fair pricing. A reputable electrician will provide a detailed and accurate quote before starting work. They will be transparent about the costs involved and explain any additional charges that may arise during the project. When evaluating electricians, be wary of those who provide unusually low quotes. While sometimes choosing the cheapest option may be really tempting, it's important to remember that quality work often comes at a fair price. An electrician who offers significantly lower prices than their competitors may be cutting corners or using subpar materials, which can lead to costly repairs and safety hazards in the future. Ultimately, it's essential to find an electrician who provides a balance between quality work and fair pricing. Feel free to ask for multiple quotes and compare them to ensure you get the best value for your money.

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 29: discussion of Jon’s & Daisy’s restrictive diets & associated physical/mental deterioration (and potential parallels with disordered eating etc.); arguing & relationship disputes (that are not immediately resolved in-chapter); self-harm (burning oneself with a lit cigarette); cigarette smoking; discussion of suicidal ideation; panic & anxiety symptoms; discussions of grief & loss; cyclical mental health issues (post-traumatic anniversary reactions; related self-loathing, internalized victim blaming, & survivor’s guilt; generally speaking, Jon’s relapsing into self-isolating, worse-than-usual headspace, esp towards the end of the chapter); depiction of parental neglect/rejection (Martin's mother). SPOILERS through S5.

There’s also a Hunt-themed statement that contains descriptions of indiscriminate violence & unprovoked warfare against a civilian population. Oh, and a cliffhanger.

Let me know if I missed anything!

_________________

“Statements ends,” Jon says, somewhat breathless as he fumbles to stop the recording.

“You alright?” Daisy asks.

“Fine.” The word is punctuated by a click and a whirr as the recorder resumes spooling.

“Are you, though?”

“Yes.” Scowling, Jon jabs his finger at the stop button – only for it to keep recording.

“It’s the Hunt, isn’t it.” Daisy sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry it’s been so prominent for the last few. I’m… not quite scraping the bottom of the barrel yet, but–”

“It’s fine, Daisy.”

“Still, I–”

“I said it’s fine–!” Jon winces at his sharp tone. “I’m sorry, that was… I’m just – on edge, I suppose.”

Which is an understatement, really.

Because it’s September. It’s September, and after September is October, and October is–

Well. These days, he can’t even look at a calendar – can’t even look at the time and date on his phone – without icy dread coursing through his veins.

Sporadic flashbacks have become an everyday occurrence, set off by the smallest of stimuli: a dropped glass shattering on the breakroom floor becomes a window bursting inward into shards; a thunderstorm heralds a fissuring sky, marred by hundreds upon thousands of greedy, unblinking voyeurs; his own voice is a doomsday harbinger, a key crammed into a lock he can’t keep from unbolting. The memories are too immediate, too vivid to feel past-tense.

It’s to be expected. Studies, common knowledge, and anecdotal evidence all point to the impact of anniversaries on mental health. He knows what a textbook post-traumatic stress response looks like. Monster or not, in this particular sense he remains overwhelmingly human. No matter how much he rationalizes it, though, intellectually understanding a psychological phenomenon does little to soften the lived experience of it.

And it does nothing to temper the chilling knowledge – bordering on conviction – that it may happen again.

“Would be worrisome if you weren’t stressed out, considering… you know. Everything.” Daisy leans back in her chair, stretches her legs out in front of her, and rolls her shoulders. “Speaking of the Hunt. Any new developments?”

“I mean… nothing since yesterday? Everything I know, Basira knows.”

“Basira… isn’t keeping me updated,” Daisy says, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Ah,” Jon says, with tact to spare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

Daisy sighs. “She thinks that I think she’s wasting her time.”

“And do you?”

Daisy gives a jerky shrug. “Don’t you?”

“Not… necessarily,” Jon hedges. Truthfully, his answer to that question is as mercurial as his moods these days, shifting from hour to hour, sometimes minute to minute. Daisy gives him an unimpressed look. “I won’t lie and say I’m optimistic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.”

“You sound like Martin.”

“Well, he spent ample time drilling it into me,” Jon says with a wry smile. “I don’t have the same capacity for hope as he does, but improbable doesn’t mean impossible. If I’d had it my way, I’d have lain down and died ages ago. I’m only here now because of him.”

“Mental health check,” Daisy says automatically.

“Not thinking of hurting myself,” Jon replies, just as rote. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’ve told you, I’m physically incapable of killing myself even if I wanted to.”

“That doesn’t stop you brooding.”

“Anyway, I wasn’t referring to anything recent.”

“Weren’t you, though?” At his blank look, Daisy gives an impatient sigh. “It hasn’t even been a year since you woke up, Sims. Up until six months ago, you were wandering an apocalyptic wasteland–”

“…I found myself utterly alone. Facing down a room full of nothing eyes, willing myself to take action. I never did, though–”

“–I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – my mind had all but seized up, and I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed–”

“–there was nothing I could do to save him – he died – so did any hope I had of – doing good in the world–”

“–there’s a sort of numbness that you adopt after months or years of bombing–”

“–I did spend a lot of time just… slumped in despair – had no reason to think it would help, but I could see no choice but waiting for death–”

“–hoping against hope that – it wouldn’t be forever–”

“Hey!” Daisy’s voice finally breaks through the rush of static. Or perhaps it was the pressure: Jon looks down to see her bony fingers caging his own in a bruising grip.

“Sorry,” he says, catching himself as he starts to list woozily.

“Not to say ‘I told you so,’ but…” Daisy gives his hands another light squeeze. “You sort of just proved my point there.”

“I’m well aware that I’m – traumatized, or whatever–”

“Not ‘or whatever’–”

“–but I’m not a danger to myself, so could we please just move on?” Jon mumbles, averting his eyes. “You wanted a Hunt update.”

Daisy scrutinizes him for a long moment before she allows the conversational pivot to stand.

“Basira said you’ve heard back from that Head Librarian,” she says, “but she blew me off when I started prying.”

“Zhang Xiaoling,” Jon says, his shoulders relaxing. “She was able to confirm some of Jonah’s intel. They do have a statement about a book matching that description in their records, and she agreed to forward a copy once it’s been digitized. They’re further along in their digitization process than we are–”

Daisy snorts. “Probably because they’re actually working on it.”

“That, and they have the benefit of a Head Librarian who actually has a background in archival studies,” Jon says drily. “In any case, they have a large archive, so it’s a work in progress. She’s processed our inquiry, though, and she says she has someone on it. We should hear back by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Huh,” Daisy says. “Sounds…”

“Like a functioning archive?”

“I was going to say ‘streamlined,’ but sure.”

“The wonders of a hiring process that prioritizes job qualifications as opposed to a candidate’s apocalyptic potential.”

“What are the chances their institution is also led by a centuries-old corpse with a god complex?”

“Non-zero, I imagine.”

Daisy wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, don’t say that.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have evidence one way or the other.”

“It doesn’t. Does she know about…” Daisy waves her hand vaguely. “All of this? The Fears, Rituals… Jonah?”

The question gives Jon pause. He thinks back to his meeting with Xiaoling all those years ago – well, last June, from her perspective.

“Some of it, I think,” he says slowly. “She seemed familiar with some of the Archivist’s abilities. There were parts of my visit that struck me as odd at the time. I didn’t realize until later that she had been speaking both Chinese and English at different points in our conversation.”

Daisy frowns. “She didn’t clue you in?”

“She didn’t, no. But…”

Elias made a good choice, the Librarian’s voice echoes in Jon’s mind. I did offer him someone, but he thought the language might be too much for him.

It does tickle me, Jonah’s voice chimes in, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose.

“I don’t know if she’s aware of Elias’ true identity.” Jon swallows with some difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry. “Or his intentions.”

“So is it really smart to trust her?”

“If she’s in communication with him, there’s nothing she can tell him that he doesn’t already know. We’re just following up on information he gave us. And he’s likely spying on our correspondence whether she’s in contact with him or not. Not much we can do about that.”

“She could have her own ulterior motives,” Daisy says.

“True enough, but… I got the sense that her primary interest is curation. Studying phenomena, building a knowledge base–”

“In service to cosmic evil,” Daisy says pointedly.

“W-well, yes, but – I don’t think she has delusions of godhood herself, and I don’t think Jonah has tempted her with the idea.” Jon huffs to himself. “He wouldn’t want to share his throne.”

“Hm.”

“I’m not saying we trust her or the Research Centre as a whole. I had reservations about their motives then and I still do. It’s not unthinkable that they’re a front for something more sinister in the same way that the Institute is. But… I don’t think there’s any especial danger in utilizing their library.”

“Sims,” Daisy sighs, “your danger meter is broken beyond repair.”

“In my defense,” Jon says, bracing one arm on the desk to leverage himself to his feet, “at this point, everything is just differing degrees of dangerous.”

As the two of them leave the tunnels, Jon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. When he glances at the screen, he sees a text notification from Naomi – in addition to two missed calls. He frowns to himself. The two of them text regularly, but she rarely calls.

“What’s up?” Daisy asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Naomi,” Jon says distractedly, already returning the call. Naomi picks up on the first ring.

“Jon?” Naomi’s voice sounds thick and tear-clogged.

A cold weight settles in Jon’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“I j-just” – Naomi pauses to clear her throat – “just needed to hear a familiar voice.”

“What happened?” Jon asks – and realizes too late that in his urgency to discover the source of her distress, he’s poured too much of himself into the question.

“Nothing.” What starts out as a self-deprecating little laugh quickly deteriorates into a half-sob. “Nothing new, anyway. It’s always like this, this time of year. Evan and I didn’t have an exact date planned, but we’d talked about an autumn wedding. Thought it would be fitting, since we met in September, you know? Tomorrow is our anniversary, actually. Or – or it would’ve been. A-and then by the time I’ve picked myself back up, the holidays will have crept up on me, and that’s always hard, and – and then before I know it, it’s March, a-and that’s its own kind of anniversary, and it’s just… it’s a lot.”

“Oh, I – Naomi, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s fine,” she says with a sniff. “Don’t think I would’ve been able to get it all out, otherwise.”

“S-still, I–”

“It’ll be three years this March. And it still feels like it was yesterday. I spend six months out of the year feeling like I’m still stumbling through that cemetery, and I just…”

This time last year, Jon thinks with a lurch, I was still the monster in her nightmares.

And even now, he still pulls her there whenever they’re both asleep.

“When does that stop?” Naomi laughs again, a desperate, pleading thing. “When does the healing come in?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon says truthfully. “Anniversaries are… they’re hard enough on their own. It doesn’t help that… well, it’s difficult to heal from something when you’re still living it.”

“What do you mean? Evan’s dead,” Naomi says, her voice breaking on the word. “He’s not coming back. It’s… it’s over.”

“There are still the dreams. The narrative might have changed, but the stage dressing is still the same.” Jon draws his shoulders in, one arm pressed tight to his stomach. “Keeping the memory fresh.”

“It’s not so bad.” Naomi sniffles again. “Better than being alone.”

“‘Alone’ or ‘nightmares’ shouldn’t be your only options.”

“I have my own nightmares, you know,” Naomi counters, sounding slightly annoyed. “When I’m asleep and you’re not. And they’re worse, because in them, I actually am alone. Nothing supernatural about it. It’s just… me.” She sighs. “This time last year – and the year before – I didn’t have anyone. And I just… I didn’t – I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not,” Jon says. “Not anymore.”

“I – I know, but I…” Naomi takes a breath. “I was… I was thinking – maybe tomorrow I could come by.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says gently, “truly I am – but it’s not safe. Especially for you, especially right now. Not with Peter here.”

Naomi is already the equivalent of an unfinished meal to the Lonely. That, together with her association with Jon, is more than enough to mark her as a potential target should Peter take notice of her.

“Feels safer than being alone,” Naomi says. “The Duchess helps – a lot – but I…” She lets out a fond but tearful chuckle. “I can’t expect her to grasp the nuances of… grief, or loneliness, or what have you.”

“How about this,” Jon says. “We tell Georgie what’s going on – as much or as little as you’d like, even if it’s as simple as ‘I don’t want to be alone right now.’ I doubt she’d be opposed to having you over.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose. I mean, I – I’ve not spent much time with her outside of just… spamming the group chat with cat photos. I like her, but she’s your friend. I’m just… a friend of a friend.”

Nestled between the words is a familiar sentiment, unarticulated and nonetheless resounding, echoing all of the earnest conviction it had when first she made such a confession: All my friends had been his friends, and once he was gone it didn’t feel right to see them. I know, I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded, they would have said they were my friends too, but I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone…

“People can have more than one friend,” Jon says. “I can’t speak for Georgie, but she wouldn’t go out of her way to talk to you if she didn’t like you.”

Indeed, that might be the reason Jon was able to open up to Georgie in the first place. He observed early on that she had no qualms disengaging from people whom she had no interest in getting to know. Whatever Jon might have felt about himself on any given day, the simple fact of the matter was that Georgie would never have let him get so close if she hadn’t seen something redeeming in him.

And she likely wouldn’t be letting him stay close now if she didn’t still see something worth salvaging.

“It’s up to you, of course,” he says. “I won’t pressure you. But I think Georgie would be more receptive to friendship than you expect. And I think – I think you’d get along with Melanie, too.” Naomi is silent on the other end of the line. “At the risk of overstepping, I… I know being alone feels like the natural state of things, but it doesn’t have to be. If you want, I can talk to Georgie. Lay the groundwork. I won’t give her any of the details – it’s not my story to tell – I’ll just let her know that you’re feeling alone and could use some companionship.”

“Okay,” Naomi whispers. “Just… let her know she’s not obligated.”

“I will. On the extremely off chance she says no, or if she’s busy tomorrow, I can keep you company remotely. We can spend the whole day holding up the office landline if you want.”

“It’s a Friday.”

“And?”

“It’s a work day?”

“Naomi, my job is wholly comprised of monologuing to any tape recorder that manifests within a six-foot radius and doing my utmost to render my department as counterproductive to both the Institute’s professed and clandestine organizational objectives as humanly or inhumanly possible.” Naomi barks out a startled laugh. “I won’t be fired no matter what I do – which is a shame, seeing as it became my foremost professional development goal somewhere between finding out my boss murdered my predecessor and virtually dying in an explosion at a haunted wax museum. Barring a sudden and unexpected apocalyptic threat – which, admittedly, is unlikely but not unthinkable– I’ve already cleared my non-existent schedule for you.”

“Okay.” Naomi makes a sound somewhere between a sniffle and a chuckle. “Thanks. Really.”

“Any time.”

_________________

The statement is an unnerving, circuitous thing: a firsthand account from an unnamed member of the Drake-Norris expedition in 1589. In many ways, it’s eerily similar to the last statement Jon accessed from Pu Songling’s archives: Second Lieutenant Charles Fleming’s shellshocked, guilt-fueled confession of atrocities committed under orders.

The historical record is rife with accounts of Francis Drake’s cruelty, Jon knows: his role in the transatlantic slave trade, the unprovoked massacres committed in his name, the preemptive strikes that incited further bloodshed. The statement giver speaks in awestruck horror of the bloodlust lurking in the man’s eyes, the vitriolic fervor with which he undertook his campaign to seek out and destroy the remnants of the Spanish fleet – and the depths of his rage when his efforts ended in defeat. Humiliated, he turned his vengeful eye to the Galician estuaries.

The writer tells plainly of his own complicity in the sacking of Vigo, razing the town to the ground and slaughtering its inhabitants with indiscriminate zeal. For four days Drake’s men carried out their rampage, retreating only when reinforcements arrived to stem the tide.

“You may ask yourself,” the Archivist reads on, “how it is that a man born into the reign of Good Queen Bess sits before you today, some four centuries past his due?

“You see, as we left the shores of Galicia that day, I heard from behind us a vicious braying, as if someone had set loose a great host of hounds. They were close – close enough for me to sense their stinking breath hot on the back of my neck. Such a thing was impossible, for we were by that time far from shore, having already rowed half the distance between the beach and the waiting armada. That did not stop me dreading the dogs lunging and tearing into me at any moment.

“I am not ashamed to admit that I let out a whimper.

“As the seconds ticked by and the pack failed to descend upon us, my curiosity grew to outweigh my terror. I turned to look – and was thus ensnared. It was, I realize now, the instant at which I became beholden to the blood. My greatest folly.

“Perhaps I oughtn’t have been so surprised to see no hounds surging toward us atop the waves, but you must understand that the proximity of their snarling was far more convincing than their visual absence. In looking behind us, though, I was able to appreciate the havoc we left in our wake: the great plumes of ash rising from the smoldering rubble, backlit by a flickering orange glow, and wails of despair so profound as to combat the noise of the wind, the waves – even the discordant shrieking of the hounds.

“It was a scene of such devastation as I had never seen before or since. Looking back, I think upon the acrid stench of charred flesh on the breeze with horror and… indescribable remorse. It shames me now to admit that at that time, I had never felt such… rapture.

“That was when a motion caught my eye. Between the distance and the billowing smoke, it should have been impossible to discern such detail, yet there he was: quarry I had left for dead, emerging from the debris and staggering away from the ruins of his… wretched life. As he looked out to behold our retreat, I could see the grief playing on his face, the fury, the fear – but what most set my blood to boiling was the spark of relief I saw in his eyes.

“It awakened something in me – a famished and merciless thing, composed of tooth and claw and a mind beginning and ending and utterly encompassed by the call of the pack. With a roaring in my ears and a single-minded violence supplanting my sensibilities, I deserted the rowboat and swam to shore. A chorus of howls carried me forward, and I let them be my wings, steering me down the swiftest, straightest path to my target.

“I slowed for nothing, and I made certain my prey did not live through the night.

“As you can likely guess, the chase did not end there. Those baying devils who had so called me forth continued to hound my steps, nipping at my heels, spurring me ever onward to the next quarry. Those who once knew me would scarcely have recognized what I became. Whenever I dared look into a mirror, I would see in myself a dogged, seething violence so akin to that which had lived in the eyes of my former commander. A cruelty that once had frightened and repulsed me had become the blood and breath of me.

“For a time I sought to refrain from the chase. The longer I refused the call, the weaker I became. The hounds’ breath on my neck grew hotter; their braying swelled louder. I found myself wasting away: always hungry, never sated. Eventually my faculties began to slip. I would lose myself to such… bestialimpulses, and only the stain of blood on my teeth would return to me my reason. It pains me to confess to you now that it did not take long before I ceased my resistance entirely.

“It was at the turn of the sixteenth century that I happened upon the artefacts now in your possession. Their previous owner was a formidable adversary. I spent nearly a fortnight tracking him before I managed to run him down, and he fought like a tempest before he fell.

“Ordinarily I did not linger after a kill, instinct hastening me ever onward to the next great game. As I turned to leave, though, I was overcome by the sense that the hunt was… unfinished. Troubled, I reached down to check the man’s pulse. I was reassured to find him quite dead, but as I drew back, I noticed the brooch.

“It was a simple thing made of tarnished copper, fashioned into an incomplete ring, the ends of which resembled the heads of dogs. The moment my fingers brushed that ornament, I knew it was meant for me. It went into my pocket with nary a conscious thought.

“The itch of the hunt was still crawling down my spine, though; the frantic snuffling of phantom hounds yet filling the air all around me. I continued to search his person until I found what was calling out to me: a thin volume bound in leather. Curiosity ever my folly, I opened it.

“Up until that point, I had never learned to read nor write Latin with any degree of mastery. Yet I could understand the text within with perfect clarity. The script did not transform to English before my eyes, nor did the book render me proficient in the language. No, I simply… beheld the pages, and the meaning flowed into me.

“The story tells of Herla, legendary king of the Britons, who visits the dwarf king’s realm. Upon leaving, he is gifted a hound and warned not to dismount his horse until the dog leaps down. When Herla and his men return to the human world, they discover that not days but centuries have passed: all those they had known have long since perished, and the Saxons have taken possession of the land. In their distress, some of the men dismount, whereupon they turn to dust. Herla warns the survivors to stay in their saddles, to wait until the dog leaps down.

“‘The dog has not yet alighted,’ the author tells us, ‘and the story says that this King Herla still holds on his mad course with his band in eternal wanderings, without stop or stay.’

“The next several pages are unreadable. The language resembles none I have ever encountered, and I have yet to find a soul who can decipher it. I can however attest its hypnotic qualities. I have spent many hours mired in those words, but I could not for the life of me tell you what I saw there. Others to whom I presented the text found themselves either enthralled or agitated, though none could recall such episodes once lucidity returned to them. I expect you mean to unravel its secrets, but you may do well to let its mystery stand.

“The final passage – a single page, this written in English – tells of Herla’s escape: how, weary and driven to despair, he casts the dog from the saddle and into the River Wye. The instant the hound hits the water, Herla and his band crumble into dust, at last meeting the same fate they spent so many hundreds of years trying to outpace.

“I have had hundreds of years of my own since first reading the tale to digest its message, and that is why I come to you today. Although I have killed several times since these items came into my possession – it should come as no surprise that there are those who covet them – I have not sought out a single hunt since I vanquished the man who yielded me these trinkets. The hounds at my heel have not ceased their clamoring, but so long as the brooch is on my person, they cannot sink their teeth in me. I am always hungry, yes – but I am no longer starving.

“But I am also weary. I have come to understand that even as the hounds can never catch me, they will never leave me. In my four hundred years, I have played the role of both the hunter and the hunted, and have learned that they share the same ultimate plight. Whether I be predator or prey, I am trapped in the throes of an endless pursuit. So long as I should live, my blood shall never quiet.

“And that is the key: so long as I should live. Even now, the fervor in my blood insists that the hunt is eternal, but I know now that one cannot outrun one’s end forever. Much like my constant, howling companions, Death will always be nipping at my heels. In that sense, he is perhaps the ultimate hunter. Just as I have delivered to him so many souls, neither can I escape his judgment. If ever I am to rest, I must bow to his supremacy.

“And so, like Herla, I shall cast the dog away from the saddle. I leave it in your care now, and the book. I should be so lucky to exit this life with the dignity I denied so many others, though I fear I shall be found undeserving of such a swift end. I can only hope that, whatever my comeuppance should be, I shall have the grace to accept it without complaint.”

With a heavy exhale, Jon depresses the stop button on the recorder, then puts his head in his hands, putting pressure on his closed eyes.

“You alright?” Basira asks.

“More than I’d like,” Jon mutters.

“If I thought there was any chance this guy was still alive, I wouldn’t have given you the statement to read.”

“I know. Just…” Jon waves his hand vaguely.

“Unpleasant, yeah.”

And rejuvenating, Jon thinks bitterly. It’s only been a few days since his last statement from Daisy, and already he had begun to feel famished.

“They sent along some supplemental records,” Basira says, rifling through printouts. “The statement is cross-referenced with two objects in their Collections Storage – here.”

The document she slides across the desk contains two catalog listings:

Item No. 9820702-1

Description: Pennanular brooch, copper alloy. Geometric and interlace motifs. Confronted zoomorphic terminals (canine profile). Moderate surface oxidization and patination. Dimensions: 5.5cm x 4.5cm body; 12.5cm pin. Artefact dated ca. 500–700 CE.

Properties: Primary subject (Case No. 9820702) reports mediating effect on the Hunter’s affliction (unverified). Item implicated in subject’s alleged abnormal longevity (unverified). Further study suggests dormancy and/or lack of reactivity to unafflicted subjects (see associated Investigation Log).

Storage: Special Collections – Inorganic Storage, Container Unit No. 982-05. Acid-free board housing, etherfoam packing. Environmental parameters in brief: maintain stable temperature (16-20°C); relative humidity, 32-35%; light levels, <300 lux. Handling protocols as per Acquisitions & Collections Policies and Procedures §3.5.3: Artefact Preservation – Metals – Copper and Copper Alloys.

Access: Upon request. Curator approval required prior to initial visit. Applicants may submit statement of intent to Acquisitions & Collections Department Head Curator for clearance. Terms, procedures, and degree of supervision subject to Curator’s discretion.

Provenance: Surrendered 2nd July, 1982 upon receipt of accompanying statement (Case No. 9820702), subject name unknown. See also Item No. 9820702-2.

Appendices:

· Investigation Log No. 9820702-1;

· Supplemental Documents Nos. 9820702-1.01 through -1.03.

Cross-reference:

· Case No. 9820702;

· Item No. 9820702-2;

· Acquisitions & Collections Catalog §3.6.4: Antiquities – Adornments and Jewelry (Inert).

Item No. 9820702-2

Description: Bound manuscript. Front and back covers unembellished leather (source undetermined) stretched over wood board (source undetermined). Leather cord binding (calf, bovine). Paper and parchment leaves. Ink corrosion and paper degradation present but minimal (fair condition inconsistent with age and media). Dimensions: 8.8cm x 14.0cm x 2.5cm. Artefact dated ca. 1190–1450 CE.

Contents: Eighteen (18) pages total, one-sided.

· Title page (1) iron gall ink on parchment (sheepskin): Gualterius Mappus – De nugis curialium – xi. De Herla rege

· Pages two (2) through four (4) iron gall ink on paper (hemp pulp, linen fiber): Medieval Latin (ca. 12th century) script.

· Pages five (5) through sixteen (16) ink (chemical composition undetermined) on paper (cotton fiber): alphabetic script (unknown roots); refer to Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.03 for comparative linguistic analysis (inconclusive).

· Page seventeen (17) ink (chemical composition undetermined) on paper (cotton fiber): Middle English (ca. 15th century) script.

· Page eighteen (18) parchment (sheepskin): blank.

Transcripts and translations (where possible) provided in Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.01*.

Properties: Primary subject (Case No. 9820702) reports total comprehension of Latin portions of the text despite lack of proficiency. Text alleged to diverge from source material (De nugis curialium – Map, Walter, fl. 1200). Both claims verified upon further examination (see associated Investigation Log). Probable association with the Hunter’s affliction.

Storage: Special Collections – Secure Storage. Environmental parameters in brief: maintain temperature at 20-22°C; relative humidity, 32-36%; light levels, ≤50 lux. Housing and handling protocols as per Acquisitions & Collections Policies and Procedures §2.5.5: Document Preservation – Premodern Inks – Iron Gall and §9.2: Special Precautions – Occult and Esoteric Texts.

Access: Restricted.

Provenance: Surrendered 2nd July, 1982 upon receipt of accompanying statement (Case No. 9820702), subject name unknown. See also Item No. 9820702-1.

Appendices:

· Investigation Log No. 9820702-2;

· Supplemental Documents Nos. 9820702-2.01* through -2.07;

· Incident Report No. 9930214.

Cross-reference:

· Case No. 9820702;

· Item No. 9820702-1;

· Acquisitions & Collections Catalog §2.1.1: Archival Media – Occult Books (Active);

· Interdepartmental Bulletin No. 9941002, “The Library of Jurgen Leitner: Lessons Learned.”

*Addendum, 16th February, 1993:Supplemental Document No. 9820702-2.01 reclassified as Restricted Access. Direct all inquiries to Pu Songling Research Library Head Librarian or Acquisitions & Collections Department Head Curator.

“So?” Basira prods. “What do you make of it?”

“Well, assuming the statement is a reliable account, it seems…”

“Promising, right?” Basira says, her eagerness tinted with relief. “If we can–”

She stops abruptly as the tape recorder on the table clicks back on.

“I think that’s our cue to move this conversation elsewhere,” Jon says.

Not that it will stop the tape recorders from listening in, but he has no desire to make Jonah’s surveillance any easier for him.

_________________

It takes some hemming and hawing, but Jon manages to convince Basira that this really ought to be a group discussion. As she recaps the statement and shares her own remarks, Jon keeps a close eye on the other two people in the room. Martin is listening attentively, leaning forward slightly but otherwise at ease. Daisy, though… she’s all corded muscles and jittery legs, taut and precarious on the edge of her seat.

All the while, Basira appears impervious to the storm brewing in Daisy’s eyes, even as Martin catches on and begins chewing on the inside of his cheek, darting nervous glances between the two of them. By the time Basira finishes her overview, the tension in the air is palpable, nearly electric.

For several seconds, no one speaks.

“So,” Martin says, his voice a bit pitchy. He clears his throat before continuing. “Magical, Fear-resistant brooch, huh?”

“It wouldn’t be unheard of,” Jon says. “Remember what I told you about Mikaele Salesa?”

“The apocalypse-proof bubble? Yeah.”

“That camera of his didn’t just protect him from the Eye, it hid him from the Powers in general.”

“What was the catch?” Daisy asks pointedly. “Got to be a catch.”

“Does there?” Martin asks. His hesitant smile falls at Daisy’s blank stare, and he tilts his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, alright.”

“It’s… not entirely benign, no,” Jon says. “In Salesa’s statement, he called it a ‘battery’–”

“–charging itself on all the quiet worries that come from living in hiding, and then when the sanctuary collapses, all that fear flows out at once. No doubt, if my oasis breaks before I die, the Eye will get quite the feast from me, but in this new world–”

“That’s enough of that, I think,” Martin says, resting a hand on Jon’s arm.

Jon bites his tongue, shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath in, only daring to speak once the tingling on his lips subsides. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” Martin offers him a reassuring smile. “Just didn’t want you getting bogged down.”

“That’s one term for it,” Jon says, not quite under his breath. It’s true enough, though. Sometimes it feels like the Archive is pressed up against the door, watching for the tiniest crack, waiting for any opportunity to surge through and drag him under. Lately, Martin has grown uncannily adept at sensing when to interrupt these lapses before they spiral out of control – likely because they’ve been growing more frequent.

“That’s what I thought,” Daisy says. Puzzled at the apparent non-sequitur, Jon glances at her, but she isn’t looking at him. All of her attention is focused on Basira. “This thing is probably the same. It’s not some… some harmless miracle solution. If we mess around with it, it’s bound to blow up in our faces sooner or later.”

“I’m… not sure about that, actually,” Jon says. “The brooch didn’t free the Hunter, it just made it so he couldn’t be caught. I think that’s what it was feeding on – the Hunter’s gradual awareness that he was no different from the hunted, that sensation of being perpetually stalked from the shadows by a greater predator. It spent centuries charging itself on that fear, and it culminated in the realization that he would never escape it. He would always be waiting for the axe to fall, and Hunt was happy to keep him as perpetual prey. If he wanted the chase to end, he had to give up the artefact – and once it was no longer keeping him in stasis, he had a choice to make.”

“Go back to hunting, or let it catch him.” Daisy breathes a humorless laugh. “The Hunt, or the End.”

“But it would keep you alive,” Basira says. “It would buy us time to find a way to free you for real.”

“What about the Leitner?” Martin asks. “That’s what Jonah sent us after in the first place.”

“Turns out it’s not actually from Leitner’s library,” Jon says. “No bookplate, and it seems the statement giver had it in his possession since the 1500s. It’s… difficult to tell from the statement whether it had any significant effect on him. He called it ‘hypnotic,’ but he was already a Hunter by the time he found it. I imagine it might have different effects on someone not already under the Hunt’s influence.”

“He sort of alluded to that.” Basira takes a moment to peruse the statement, running her finger along the page until she finds the relevant line. “Here – they ‘found themselves either enthralled or agitated.’ A bit obscure, but… he says it like it’s an afterthought. If it outright turned anyone into a Hunter, he probably would’ve said so.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous,” Daisy says.

“I never said it wasn’t,” Basira replies coolly. “The record references a transcript, so I assume they had someone read it at some point. And it also mentions an incident report.”

“What was the incident?” Martin asks.

“Don’t know,” Basira says. “They didn’t provide any of the supplemental documentation, just the catalogue listing and the statement itself. But they acquired the book in ‘82 and didn’t make the transcript restricted until ‘93, so… either it was dormant when they first studied it and became active later, or they didn’t study it closely enough to activate its effects, or it doesn’t affect everyone the same way, or – or maybe their workplace safety guidelines just changed and they decided not to risk studying it anymore.”

“Jonah did say something about its effects varying depending on how much of it a person reads, right?” Martin asks. “Though who knows where he got that from.”

“There might be some truth to that,” Basira says. “The catalogue entry does describe what’s on the title page, so I’m assuming that part at least is safe. I’m most curious about the untranslated chunk in the middle.”

And I’m a universal translator, Jon thinks, fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie. Basira’s eyes flick to him, as if reading his mind.

“I… suppose I could–”

“No,” Martin and Daisy say simultaneously.

Jon scowls. “You didn’t even let me finish the–”

“You threw yourself into the Buried – twice – to save me,” Daisy says severely. “You can’t keep sacrificing yourself at every opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t be–”

“What, re-traumatizing yourself by reading a Leitner?” Jon shuts his mouth, pressing his lips tightly together. “It’s not worth it, Sims.”

“Daisy,” Basira begins, but Daisy cuts her off.

“No. I’m not having him throw himself to the wolves just because you’re curious.”

Basira flinches, hurt momentarily crossing her face before her expression goes stony.

“You really think that’s what this is about?” she says, her voice shaking. “Knowledge for knowledge’s sake? Me being curious?”

“You can’t tell me you’re not,” Daisy says, and then her expression softens. “And I love that about you, I do – you’re brilliant, Basira – and driven, and passionate, and…” She sighs. “But sometimes… sometimes you need to let things go.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon notices Martin cross and uncross his legs, his lower lip captured between his teeth. When Jon catches his eye, Martin jerks his chin minutely at Basira and Daisy, a grimace on his face. All Jon can offer is a helpless, equally awkward shrug. Near as he can tell, Basira and Daisy seem to have momentarily forgotten that they have an audience, and judging from their locked eyes and thunderous expressions, he doubts either of them would appreciate a reminder right this second.

“Let you go, you mean,” Basira says tersely. “When you say ‘it’s not worth it,’ what you really mean is that you’re not worth it.”

“Well, I’m not.”

The cavalier tone is the last straw, it seems.

“Why won’t you just let me help you?” Basira slams her hand down on the rickety table, straining its wobbly legs. “You’re just so ready to–” She lets out a frustrated groan. “You never used to give up this easily.”

“Maybe should’ve done,” Daisy says flatly. “Might’ve lowered my body count.”

“Giving up Hunting doesn’t have to mean giving up on living,” Basira says. “I might have finally found an alternative, and you won’t even consider–”

“I’m not doing anything that’s going to hurt someone, and that includes exposing Jon to a fucking Leitner.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Jon mutters testily, the friction finally getting the better of his nerves. “Don’t I get a say?”

“No, you don’t,” Daisy says, rounding on him. Now that all of her brimming agitation is funneled in his direction, he regrets saying anything at all. “Because lately, whenever I ask you if you want to hurt yourself, the best you can give me is ‘it doesn’t matter because I can’t die anyway.’”

“Jon?” Martin says urgently, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Th-that’s not what I–”

“You’re not thinking rationally,” Daisy speaks over Jon’s stammering. “You’re thinking like a condemned man with a rope around his neck and something to prove, and I’m not going to be the noose you use to hang yourself with.”

“Will you listen to yourself?” Basira says heatedly. “You get on my case about double standards–”

“That’s enough!” Martin bursts out. “This isn’t helping. Daisy’s right, Jon. You’re not going anywhere near that book – I don’t want to hear it,” he adds before Jon can retort. “Not now, anyway. We’ll talk later. But Basira’s right, too,” Martin says, turning his attention to Daisy. “You can’t make amends by dying, and you can’t do better going forward if you’re not alive to try.”

“Who says I deserve a chance?” Daisy says.

“Whatever you think you ‘deserve’” – Martin gives Jon a meaningful glance as he says it – “you’ve got a chance, and people who want to help you through it, and you ought to consider that before you assume you’d do more good dead than alive.” He exhales a sharp breath. “Anyway, forget the Leitner, and forget what Jonah said about it. The brooch seems like the more promising option here.”

“I agree,” Jon says, cowed. “Between the book and the brooch, the statement giver credited the latter with keeping the Hunt at bay. And perhaps my bias is showing, but truthfully I – I’m not inclined to see those books as anything but tragedies waiting to happen.”

“What’s the difference?” Daisy says flatly. “It took a decade for something bad enough to happen for them to make the Leitner’s transcript restricted. The brooch could be just as much of a time bomb. Just because it doesn’t have any ‘incidents’ connected with it now doesn’t mean it never will.”

She isn’t wrong. Looking back, Jon had found it infuriating that Leitner would continue meddling with the books even after he witnessed the horror they wrought, all while claiming to have learned from his hubris. Just because this particular artefact isn’t a book doesn’t make it any less ominous.

And yet…

“I think it’s already shown its more sinister side,” Jon says slowly.

“You think,” Daisy scoffs.

“It doesn’t give a Hunter strength, it makes them perpetual prey. It… won’t be pleasant for you, I’m sure,” Jon admits, “but Basira’s right – it could keep you alive while we search for a better solution.”

“There might not be a better solution,” Daisy says stubbornly.

“Which is what I said before you browbeat me into taking statements from you,” Jon counters.

“I didn’t browbeat–” Jon raises his eyebrows. Daisy gives a flustered groan. “It’s just – it’s different, okay?”

Much as Jon wants to disagree, he knows better than to argue. They’d only end up talking in circles.

“I think it’s an avenue worth pursuing,” he says. “Given the alternatives.”

“Please, Daisy,” Basira says. “Just… consider it, at least.”

The for me remains unspoken, but Jon can hear it loud and clear. As can Daisy, it seems – the defiant set to her jaw falters for a moment before she tenses again.

“Fine,” she says grudgingly. “But if it starts to go south–”

“If it manifests any new properties, we’ll prioritize containing it over interacting with it,” Jon says.

“You promise?” Daisy asks, but she looks at Basira when she says it. It takes a moment, but Basira does nod.

“Do you think Pu Songling will let us have it?” Martin asks. “Seems like their protocols are…”

“Rigorous?” Jon supplies.

“You’d almost think they were running an academic institution or something,” Basira says drily.

“Yeah, but treating the artefacts like museum pieces, it’s… it’s weird, isn’t it?” Martin says. “It’s not as if they’re fragile, right? They’re held together by… nightmare alchemy, or whatever.”

“I suppose it’s to be expected,” Jon says. “I know the Librarian has a degree in information science. And I recall her telling me that the Curator is an historian with a background in museology. But you’re right – it would be nice if Leitners were as delicate as the average old manuscript.”

“At least they’re flammable,” Daisy mutters.

“We spoke with the Head Curator,” Basira says. “She’s willing to work out a trade.”

“A trade?” Martin asks.

“Knowledge for knowledge,” Jon says. “An artefact for an artefact. I get the impression that the Librarian and the Curator are both very… collections-oriented. True to their titles, I suppose.”

“Hold up,” Daisy says. “‘The Librarian,’ ‘the Curator’ – are those just job titles, or are they, like… Beholding Avatar titles?” Jon blinks at her, perplexed. “I mean – the way you keep saying them, it’s sort of like…”

“What, ‘Archivist’?” Jon gnaws on his thumbnail as he pauses to consider. “I… don’t know, actually. I wasn’t really doing it consciously? It just…” He shrugs helplessly. “It felt right.”

“Is it coming from the Eye, then?”

“I have no idea, Basira.” Jon leans forward, props his elbows on his knees, and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Hm.”

“In any case…” Jon exhales slowly, forcing himself to sit up straight again. “They seem to take the research and curation aspects of their roles to heart. They aren’t reckless with their pursuits, they take ample precautions, but the scholars at Pu Songling do study the items that come into their possession. And from what I understand, the Curator takes avid interest in adding to their collection. Same as the Archivist’s role is to record stories. To what extent her efforts are driven by her connection to the Eye versus her own innate curiosity, I couldn’t tell you, no more than I can make that distinction in myself.”

“Sort of a chicken-or-egg situation, then,” Daisy says.

“From an evolutionary perspective, the egg came first,” Jon says automatically. “Amniotic eggs have been around for over three hundred million years. Birds originated in the Jurassic, true galliforms didn’t evolve until at least the Late Cretaceous, phasianids don’t appear in the fossil record until about thirty million years ago, and chickens as we know them were only domesticated about eight thousand years ago–”

“Oh my god,” Daisy groans, putting her head in her hands.

“What?” Jon says, heat rising in his cheeks as Martin muffles a snicker beneath his hand. “I’m not wrong.”

“Pu Songling’s Collections Department is larger than our Artefact Storage,” Basira interjects, “but the, uh… Curator has a shortlist of artefacts she’s been on the lookout for. I checked our records and found a match. A ring – probably belongs to the Vast, based on the reports surrounding it. Looks like the Institute purchased it from Salesa in 2014, shortly before his disappearance. The Curator considers it an ‘equitable exchange,’ but she still wants to assess the ring in person before making the trade.”

“And we still have to talk to Sonja,” Jon adds. “On the one hand, she likely wouldn’t object to being rid of an artefact, but on the other hand… I imagine she won’t be keen on letting it out into the world.”

“I think it would be a harder sell if you were just going to swap it out for another artefact – something unfamiliar that they’d have to develop all new protocols for,” Martin says. “But yeah, even if you won’t be making the brooch her problem, she’ll probably still want to know what we want with it. And I can see her pressing the Curator on why she wants the ring when she gets here.”

“The Curator won’t be coming here,” Basira says evenly, casting a surreptitious glance at Daisy to gauge her reaction. “Says she’s too busy to travel.”

“So you have to haul the ring up to her,” Daisy says.

“I mean” – Basira breathes an uneasy laugh – “it’s a ring. Not much hauling involved–”

“Oh, don’t start–”

“–and there are precautions I can take. Looks like Artefact Storage has relatively thorough documentation for this one.”

“‘Relatively’?” Daisy repeats, unimpressed. “You were just complaining about how sparse their records are. ‘Relatively’ isn’t saying much.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing.” Basira rubs at her face. “I have to do this. Just… trust me.”

“You know I do–”

“Then let me have your back,” Basira says, practically pleading. “Let me help you.”

“Fine,” Daisy mutters, her posture going slack. “Do what you want.”

It’s not exactly a resounding endorsement, but it’s as good as they’re likely to get.

_________________

Despite Daisy’s lack of enthusiasm, Basira immediately throws herself into making arrangements. The Curator at Pu Songling is more than accommodating, seemingly as eager as Basira to make the trade. The real challenge is the Head of Artefact Storage.

It takes over a week of cajoling, lengthy justifications, and a concerted, collaborative effort from Basira, Jon, and Martin before Sonja finally, albeit reluctantly, agrees to discuss the matter with the Curator. Over the following days, Basira and Jon facilitate negotiations between the two: mediating a fair amount of (professional, but nevertheless pointed) verbal sparring early on, and later arbitrating the terms and conditions of the trade.

“You’d think that in the course of dealing with literal supernatural evil on a daily basis,” Basira gripes at one point, “bureaucracy wouldn’t be the biggest priority.”

“I’ve found that the bureaucratic process gives me ample time to make assessments,” Sonja says, unruffled. “Red tape has a way of bringing out the worst in people. Sometimes that’s a procrastinating student who woke up this morning, realized their deadline is next week, and ‘needs access to our materials, like, yesterday,’” she says, complete with finger quotes and a mocking tone. “And sometimes it’s some shady rich snob who’s been consistently cagey about his motives, and eventually he starts to go from impatient and entitled to desperate and frustrated, and that’s when the red flags start popping up crimson. After a while, you learn to distinguish the mundane sort of desperation from the more sinister sort.”

“Huh,” Jon says, smiling to himself. He knew Sonja was clever, but he never knew she was so calculating. It seems Jonah made the same mistake with Sonja as he did with Gertrude – overestimating a person’s curiosity and malleability, underestimating their prudence and pragmatism, and then promoting them to a position where they were free to act in a decidedly un-Beholding-like manner.

Once Sonja is sufficiently assured that the Curator has no intentions of utilizing the artefact or allowing it to venture beyond the secure confines of Pu Songling’s Collections Storage, the process starts to go a bit more smoothly. As expected, Sonja is amenable to the prospect of having one less piece of malignant costume jewelry, as she puts it, provided the Archival staff take full responsibility – both for the ring once Basira signs it out and for the artefact they receive in exchange.

“The ring has a compulsion effect,” Sonja tells them. “Makes people want to put it on – and once it’s on your finger, it’s not coming off until you hit the ground. Luckily it’s not a particularly active artefact, at least not compared to some of the other things we have here. I wouldn’t call it safe, obviously, but” – she raps her knuckles on the wooden beads of the bracelet on her opposite wrist – “it’s never breached containment.”

The how and why become abundantly clear upon seeing the closed ring box, so caked in earth and grime that it’s impossible to make out the color or material underneath.

“Buried, I take it,” Basira murmurs, giving Jon a sidelong glance.

“Yeah.” Jon grimaces at the phantom taste of soil on his tongue. “An artefact to contain an artefact.”

“Looks like the Curator is getting a twofer,” Basira says.

“Fine by me,” Sonja says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s the box it came in, actually. Don’t know why it works, but it does, and that’s all I care about. So long as you keep it closed, the worst you’ll get is vertigo. As far as we’ve observed, anyway. There’s always a chance that an artefact has more secrets than it lets on at first glance. Assuming you know everything there is to know is a good way to end up in a casket.”

“We’re well aware,” Jon says. “Believe me.”

“Seriously, though – if this goes tits up, I don’t want to hear it,” Sonja says sternly, all but wagging a finger. “And if you call up here a few months from now to tell me that you’ve got a rogue artefact wreaking havoc in the Archives, and I’ve got to put my people at risk to contain it, I will unleash unholy hell.”

The funny thing is, Jon believes her.

_________________

Despite the progress they’re making on obtaining the Hunter’s brooch, dissent continues to simmer within the group – particularly where Daisy is concerned. As the escalating tension in the Archives becomes ever more tangible, Martin begins to feel claustrophobic under the weight of all the things left unspoken.

Daisy is consistently ill-tempered: bellicose in one moment and taciturn in the next, frequently seeking out solitude whenever her agitation gets the best of her. Martin suspects that her volatile mood has as much to do with her deteriorating condition as it does to do with her lingering aversion to the rest of the group’s efforts. Although she and Basira haven’t had another row – so far as Martin is aware, anyway – there’s been an undeniable friction between them. On the worst days, Basira keeps to herself, burying her head in her research while Daisy slinks off to some dark corner of the Archives to brood until Jon comes to drag her away from her thoughts.

Not that Jon is much better. He’s been sullen lately, growing more withdrawn, sleeping less and jumping at shadows even more than usual. Martin often catches him in a trance, staring vacantly into space and droning horrors under his breath. More and more he lapses into statement clips mid-sentence, regardless of how recently he’s had a statement. Sometimes, all it takes is a momentary slip for Jon to lose his footing and devolve into a frenzied litany of back-to-back, fragmentary horror stories. On a few recent occasions he’s lost his voice entirely, though luckily it’s only been for an hour or two at a time.

(So far, Jon says morosely after each episode.)

Most unsettling, though, is the chronic faraway look in his eye, like he’s seeing something else. Like he’s somewhere else, lost across an unbridgeable divide.

Martin is well-acquainted with the sensation of feeling alone in the presence of others. That doesn’t make it any less distressing. It’s not that Jon intends to be distant. He might not even be aware of it; would likely be mortified if he knew just how much that detachment stirred Martin’s longstanding fears of isolation and abandonment. Jon’s still affectionate, after all. Although he seems reluctant to actively seek out comfort these days, he’s still prompt to take an outstretched hand, to lean into a kind touch, to accept a proffered embrace. Still makes a concerted effort to muster, however feebly, a soft smile whenever Martin enters a room. Still attempts to be present and attentive and open.

But sometimes it feels like Jon is out of reach, separated from the rest of the world, watching it pass him by through layers of frosted glass. Martin knows the feeling. What he doesn’t know is how to fix it.

Before long, Basira is set to leave for Beijing, an artefact of the Vast nestled away in her luggage amidst assurances to Sonja that, yes, under no circumstances will Basira attempt to take it on a plane or into the open ocean because, no, Basira does not have a death wish, thank you very much.

Martin half-expects another quarrel to break out on the eve of Basira’s departure, but Daisy is oddly subdued. Perhaps she just doesn’t want to part ways with angry words and unresolved arguments, or perhaps she’s simply come to accept the rest of the group’s decision to move forward with the plan. Considering the dark circles under her eyes, though, it’s just as likely that she’s simply too fatigued to start a fight.

A few days later, Martin descends the ladder into the tunnels to find Jon standing at his makeshift desk, staring down at the map unfurled across its surface – the product of the group’s ongoing efforts to survey the sprawling tunnel system of the former Millbank Prison. The blueprint-in-progress is an equally sprawling thing: sheets of mismatched paper layered one atop the next and taped together, its irregular borders comprised of haphazard angles and dog-eared edges.

The hand-drawn map on its surface is chaotic, reflecting the penmanship of four different authors. Jon’s contributions might be the messiest – the burn scar contracture on his dominant hand renders his lines shaky at best, and his handwriting has always been a tad chickenscratch. Daisy’s isn’t much better. Conversely, Basira’s additions are the neatest, her strokes as steady as the persona she tries to project to the world. Martin’s are passable, if only because, unlike Jon or Daisy, he actually has the patience to use rulers and book edges to trace straight paths.

To be fair, it would probably look a mess no matter how painstaking they were in constructing it. The tunnels are as labyrinthine as expected: a vast network of arterial corridors with offshoots along their lengths, branching into three- or four-way forks, most of which lead to dead ends. Occasionally, they find a path that loops back around and connects other parts of the maze, creating a series of meandering, convoluted closed circuits. It’s difficult to tell just by looking, but they are (Martin hopes) making progress. At the rate they’re going, they have to be on track to find the Panopticon before the winter solstice.

In any case, as Martin approaches the desk, he sees that familiar vacant look on Jon’s face, as if he isn’t actually seeing what’s in front of him. The effect is underscored by the cigarette burning away in his hand, hanging limp and forgotten at his side. Martin clears his throat lightly, in deference to Jon’s hair-trigger startle reflex. He doesn’t count the fact that Jon doesn’t jump at all as a success. If anything, it’s cause for concern.

“Jon?” Martin tries. There’s a slight delay before Jon glances over, giving Martin no acknowledgment aside from a sluggish blink before lowering his head again.

“I, uh…” Martin offers a weak smile, attempting to keep his tone light. He gestures at the cigarette. “I thought you quit?”

Jon shrugs, refusing to meet Martin’s eyes. “Not like it’ll kill me.”

“Might catch up with you later, though,” Martin says, scratching at his neck. “You know, once we find a way out of here.”

“There is no ‘out’ for me,” Jon says mulishly.

“You don’t know that. Or Know it.” Jon’s only reaction is to press his lips tightly together, like he’s biting back a retort. “Look, I’m not trying to nag you, I just wor– Jon!” Martin yelps as he watches Jon put his cigarette out on the back of his hand.

Martin lunges forward, grabbing Jon’s hand and yanking it close to inspect the damage. It’s the same hand that Jude shook, already textured and pitted with webs of hypertrophic scarring. Somehow, Jon managed to plant this newest burn on a patch of previously-undamaged skin, sandwiched between two bands of knotted tissue.

The contours of her fingers, Martin recognizes with a queasy lurch – followed by another when he thinks to wonder whether Jon sought out that scrap of healthy skin on purpose just now.

Jon barely reacts, staring into space with wide eyes and dilated pupils. Martin looks down again to see the circular singe mark already knitting itself back together, leaving only a small, shiny patch of discoloration ringed with a dusting of ash. In all likelihood, even that will be gone by morning.

If only all wounds would heal so easily.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Martin hisses, fighting to keep his voice even. He brushes a soothing thumb over the spot, as if to apologize to the abused skin on Jon’s behalf.

Jogged out of his reverie by Martin’s sharp tone, Jon stares daggers at him, his mouth open as if to unleash a scathing reprimand, the set of his jaw so reminiscent of those early days in the Archives. An instant later, though, he withers, cringing away and fixing his eyes on the floor.

“I wasn’t,” he mumbles, at least having the decency to sound contrite. “Wasn’t really paying attention.”

It’s not the first time Martin’s witnessed a self-inflicted injury. When pressed, Jon always claims that it’s not a deliberate, planned form of self-punishment, but rather a reflex reaction that kicks in when he starts feeling adrift in time. Somewhere along the line, it seems, he convinced himself that physical pain is as good a shortcut as any – a sort of panic button to bring him back to the present when he needs grounding.

Whatever his intentions, though, and no matter what rationalizations Jon wants to dole out, it’s not a healthy coping mechanism. And it’s difficult for Martin to believe that self-punishment doesn’t factor at all, considering Jon’s obsessive guilt spirals and his blasé attitude towards being hurt.

“‘S already healed,” Jon says with a spiritless shrug. He drops the snuffed-out remainder of his cigarette on the floor and unnecessarily grinds it under his heel.

“That’s not the point.” Martin doesn’t realize how tightly he’s grasping Jon’s hand until Jon winces. Although Martin relaxes his grip somewhat, he doesn’t let go. “It doesn’t matter how quickly your body heals, or that you’ve had worse, or whatever other justifications you want to make. You’re still getting hurt. That’s not okay, and – and if it were me in your shoes, you’d be telling me the same thing.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon’s hair falls to cover his face as he ducks his head.

It’s fine, Martin almost says – except it’s not, is it?

“Come on,” he says instead, guiding Jon to sit in the nearest chair before taking a seat next to him. Where before Jon was all stiff limbs and rigid spine, now he looks like he’s given up the ghost, drooping like a wilting flower.

Though he allows Martin to keep hold of his hand, Jon doesn’t return the pressure. And Jon’s skin is freezing – no doubt partly due to the damp chill of the tunnels, and partly because he has, by his own admission, always had shit circulation. Combined with his limp fingers and loose grip, though, the overall effect is far too reminiscent of those months spent keeping vigil over Jon’s hospital bed, his hand nothing but cold, dead weight in Martin’s.

It took too long for Martin to admit that he had been foolish to hope that Jon was still in there somewhere, aware of Martin’s presence, fighting to regain consciousness. The whole time, Martin was just keeping his own company. Jon wasn’t just unreachable – he wasn’t there at all.

(Martin had been wrong about that in the end. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever forgive himself for not being there when Jon woke up.)

Martin bites his lip as he formulates a response. He’s learned over the years that when Jon is like this, it’s best to strike a careful balance between docility and defiance. Push too hard too fast, and Jon will dig his heels in; approach him too tentatively, and he’s liable to interpret concern as pity; force him to talk about his feelings, and he’ll bolt; smother him with tenderness, and he’ll balk.

Granted, Jon has become much more receptive to tenderness over the years. Most of the time, anyway. When his skewed self-worth and convictions about what he does and doesn’t deserve don’t get in the way.

“At the risk of being a nag–”

“You’re not a nag,” Jon says softly.

“When’s the last time you had a statement?”

“A few days ago.” The response is too quick, too automatic.

“A few days ago,” Martin repeats, allowing a bit of disbelief to seep into his voice.

Jon nods stiffly. “Monday, I think.”

“Today is Tuesday.”

“I–” Jon cuts off his own retort, turning to blink owlishly at Martin. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, his heart sinking. Jon must be losing time again. “So you had a statement yesterday?”

“No, I – I don’t…” Jon squints up at the ceiling, wracking his brain. “I don’t think so? It’s – I think I would recall if it had been shorter than one day.”

“So, last Monday?”

“I don’t – I don’t know,” Jon says, growing testy. “I suppose. Must’ve been.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.” The admission is devoid of all the simmering agitation that had been there only moments before. Now, he just sounds tired.

“Well… I think you might be due for one.” Although Martin had been striving for gentle suggestion, there’s a harsh edge to the words. Rather than get Jon’s hackles up again, though, he seems to crumple under what he doubtless reads as an accusation.

“You’re right,” he says hoarsely. “And I’m sorry. I know lately I’ve been…”

“Tetchy,” Martin offers, just as Jon says, “a bit of a prick.”

“Your words, not mine,” Martin says with a tentative grin. Jon returns his own feeble half-smile, but it quickly falters.

“I’ve almost exhausted Daisy’s catalogue,” he confesses. “Only a handful left now. I’ve got to make them last until the solstice.”

An apprehensive chill runs down Martin’s spine at that. “And then what?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

There’s virtually no chance that Jon, prone to rumination as he is, hasn’t been dwelling on it.

“Basira said she has a few statements, right?” Martin asks. “Which… if you already have a statement about an encounter, can you still get nourishment from other statements about it, so long as it’s coming from someone else’s point of view?”

“Probably.” Jon shrugs one shoulder. “The factual details of the encounter are less important than the subject’s emotional response. Different perspective, different story, different lived experience of fear.”

“Then… you have my statement about the Flesh attack, but there’s still Basira’s. And – and maybe Melanie–”

“I’m not taking another statement from Melanie,” Jon says tersely. “She’s been tethered to me for too long without say, and I’m not dragging her back in.”

“But if it’s consensual–”

“It won’t be, because I don’t consent.”

“If the alternative is literally starving–”

“I’ll find another alternative. Or I won’t. But I’m not asking Melanie for a statement.” Jon keeps his head bowed, but he looks up at Martin through his lashes. “The first time she quit, I was worried that she might show up in my nightmares again, but she didn’t. I don’t know if her severance from the Eye will keepher out of my nightmares if she gives me a new statement, and… I can’t risk it. I can’t do that to her. Even if the nightmares weren’t an issue… I’m not going to ask her to relive yet another traumatic experience for my benefit–”

“–I shall choose to die rather than take part in such an unholy meal–”

Jon claps a hand over his mouth, a panicked look in his eye.

“…nor shall I take my own life, whatever extremity my suffering may reach,” he tacks on, too much of an afterthought for comfort.

“Which means we need to plan for the future,” Martin says, forcing calm into his voice despite the way his heart picks up its pace.

“But it can’t involve Melanie,” Jon says – gentler than before, but still firm.

“No, you’re – you’re right,” Martin relents. “It wouldn’t be fair to her. But we could still ask Basira.”

Jon makes a noncommittal noise, his expression rapidly going pinched and closed off again.

“Lately,” Martin says, licking his lips nervously, “lately it feels like you’ve been shutting everyone out again. It isn’t healthy–”

“Healthy?” Jon’s glare could burn a hole in the floor. “I don’t need to be healthy, I just need to be whatever it wants.”

Once, Martin might have been daunted by Jon’s scathing tone. By now, he knows that Jon is all bluster – and that the brunt of it is turned inward, against his own self.

“Please, Jon. Tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

Those, apparently, are the magic words, because Jon finally capitulates.

“It’s October,” he tells the floor.

“It… is October, yeah.” Bewildered, Martin waits for elaboration. When a minute passes with no response forthcoming, he prompts, “Is that… bad…?”

“Historically, yes, it has been,” Jon says with a tired, frayed-sounding chuckle.

“I… Jon, I need you to help me out here,” Martin says helplessly. “I can’t read your mind.”

“October is when it happens, Martin.” Jon glances at Martin once, quickly, before returning his gaze to the ground. He’s twisting one hand around the opposite wrist now, fingers curled tightly enough to blanch his knuckles. “The eighteenth. When everything goes wrong.”

“You mean…”

Jon’s sharp inhale becomes a choked exhale, which in turn abruptly cuts off as the Archive takes its cue.

“…what settled over me wasn’t dread; there wasn’t enough uncertainty for that. It was doom. I was certain that some sort of disaster was on the horizon–”

“–something bad. Something unspeakable. And I would have helped make it happen–”

“–the fear never really went away. I’ve heard that being exposed to the source of your terror over and over again can help break its power over you, numb you to it, but in my experience it just teaches you to hide from it. Sometimes that might mean hiding in a quiet corner of your mind, but–”

“–soon enough, I could no longer fool myself–”

“–the calm I had been getting accustomed to had been torn away completely, and where it had been was just this horrible, ice-cold terror–”

“–that – we can’t escape the ruins of our own future–”

“–a future where – humanity was violently and utterly supplanted, and wiped out by a new category of being–”

“–there are terrible things coming – things that, if we knew them, would leave us weak and trembling, with shuddering terror at the knowledge that they are coming for all of us–”

“–I think in my heart, I have been waiting for this moment. For the final axe to fall–”

“–we create the world in a lot of ways. I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that, when we’re not being careful, we can change it–”

There’s a breathless pause before Jon continues, in a nearly inaudible whisper: “What could I have chosen to change? Would a different path have been possible?”

“It is,” Martin says firmly, “and we’re on it. What happened last time won’t happen again. We won’t let it.”

Jon doesn’t acknowledge the reassurance.

“I should’ve known,” he says with a quiet ferocity, in his own voice this time. “It was too peaceful. I should’ve known it wasn’t going to last. And – and on some level I did know – I knew it wasn’t over – but I just… I didn’t want to be the one to shatter the illusion, I suppose.” His expression goes taut. “Didn’t much matter what I wanted, in the end. But I still should’ve seen it coming. Can’t let my guard down again.”

“How could you have known?” Martin doesn’t intend for it to come out as exasperated. He tries to reel it back, to gentle his tone. “You’ve said yourself that you can’t predict the future–”

“No, but I knew Jonah had plans for me. And I knew nothing good could come of feeding the Eye, but I kept on anyway.”

“It’s not like you were doing it for fun, Jon! You needed it to survive, and Jonah took advantage of that. Or…” No – that makes it sound purely opportunistic, doesn’t it? In reality, it was all part of Jonah’s long game from the start. “He made you dependent on statements specifically becausehe wanted to take advantage of that.”

“I made choices,” Jon says tonelessly. “I can’t absolve myself of responsibility just because Jonah was nudging me in a particular direction.”

“You were manipulated,” Martin insists, “and I’m not having you apologize for surviving it. For not starving to death.”

“You don’t understand,” Jon says, growing more distressed, reaching up with both hands and tangling his fingers in his hair. “When that box of statements finally arrived, I… I couldn’t shoo you away fast enough. I was hungry, yes, but I wasn’t starving yet. I could’ve waited longer, but I just… I wanted one–”

“–should have fought harder against the temptation – but my curiosity was too strong–”

“You shouldn’t have to wait until you’re literally on death’s doorstep before you fulfill a basic need,” Martin interrupts.

“I should when that ‘basic need’ entails serving the Beholding,” Jon says heatedly. “And I – I should’ve known better – should’ve known not to jump headlong into the first statement that caught my eye. I’d known for a while that the Beholding leads me away from statements it doesn’t want me to know. It logically follows that it would lead me towards statements that would strengthen it. If I’d had any sense, I would’ve been suspicious of anything in that box that called out to me. It didn’t… it didn’t feel any different, but I – I suppose that somewhere along the line I just got used to… to wandering down whatever path I was led. I didn’t think, I never stop to think–”

“If anything, Jon, you overthink. You’re overthinking right now.”

Martin has known for a long time now that Jon will latch onto the smallest details, allow his thoughts to branch into an impossible number of routes and tangents, tie together loose threads in countless permutations in the interest of considering all possible conclusions, no matter how outlandish. He will apply Occam's razor in one moment before tossing it into the bin, only to fish it out again: lather, rinse, repeat. His mind is a noisy, cluttered conspiracy corkboard, and he’ll hang himself with red string if given half a chance, just to feel like he’s in control of something.

“It’s easy to look back and criticize your past self,” Martin says, “but he didn’t know what you do. If we knew the outcome to every action, maybe we wouldn’t make mistakes, but we’re only human–”

“Not all of us.”

“–so we just have to do the best with what we have in the moment,” Martin continues, paying no heed to Jon’s grumbled comment. No good will come of guiding him down that rabbit trail right now. Anyway, Martin has a more pressing concern–

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this sooner?” he blurts out, immediately wincing at his lack of tact. “That came out wrong–”

“Why didn’t I tell you how quick I was to chase you out of the house and sink my teeth into a statement the moment temptation presented itself?” Jon scoffs. “Because I’m ashamed. Why else?”

“No, not–” Martin scrubs a hand over his face. It’s a struggle, sometimes, not to grab Jon by the shoulders and shake him until all of that stubborn self-loathing falls away. “About the fact that you’ve got a – a post-traumatic anniversary event coming up, I mean. You haven’t been well, and I thought I understood why – thought it was just… all of it, in general. But here I come to find you’ve been agonizing over the upcoming date of the single worse day of your life–”

“One of the worst,” Jon says quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t lose you until much later.”

Martin’s breath catches in his throat at that, a sharp pang shooting through his chest.

“Well… you’ve got me now,” he says meekly. “So – so you don’t have to suffer in silence, is what I’m saying. What happened to you – no, what was done to you – it was horrible, and it wasn’t your fault. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s the truth.”

“Either I’ve always been caught up in someone else’s web, passively having things happen to me with no control over my life–”

“–the Mother got exactly the result she no doubt wanted, one that would lead to a fear – so acute that I could later have that horror focused and refined into a silk-spun apotheosis–”

Jon bites down on one knuckle, eyes shut tight as he waits for the compulsion to subside.

“Or,” he says after a minute, “or I do have control, and I can change the outcome, which makes me culpable. I don’t know which prospect I hate more. Which probably says some unflattering things about me.”

“It’s not that simple–”

“It is,” Jon says viciously. “If there is another path, then I should’ve found it last time!” He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a steadying breath. When he speaks again, he’s no longer bordering on shouting, but there’s a quaver in his voice, a fragility that Martin finds more disconcerting than any flash of anger. “The way I see it, there are two options. One, what happened in my future was inevitable and nothing I could’ve done would’ve changed it – which certainly doesn’t bode well for this timeline. Or, the outcome can be changed, in which case my choices matter, and had I just made better choices, maybe I could have prevented all of this from ever happening in the first place.”

“You’re not being fair,” Martin says, his hands clenching into fists – but Jon isn’t listening.

“Doesn’t make much difference, I suppose. The consequences are the same either way–”

“–billions of – people making their way through life who had no idea what was right above their heads–”

“–would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters–”

“–minds so strange and colossal that we would never know they were minds at all–”

“–idiots who destroyed themselves chasing a secret that wasn’t worth knowing–”

“–there, caught up in a series of events that I didn’t understand but that terrified me – I did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done–”

“–running was pointless. To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do–”

“–I don’t know if you have ever drowned, but it’s the most painful thing I have ever experienced–”

“–I do not suppose I need to dwell on the pain, but please know that I would sooner die than endure it again–”

“Would you?” Martin says abruptly. Jon won’t look at him. “Jon, I need to know if you’re feeling like hurting yourself.”

“What would it matter if I was?” Jon still won’t look at him. “I’m categorically incapable of hurting myself in any way that matters.”

Martin blinks in disbelief. “Okay, that’s blatantly untrue.”

Jon has been a glaring portrait of self-neglect for as long as Martin has known him. That simple lack of consideration for himself, together with compounding survivor’s guilt, was the perfect stepping stone to active self-endangerment. Now that Jon’s convinced himself he’s invulnerable to a normal human death, he’s all the more careless with himself.

“I don’t want to die,” Jon whispers. “That’s the problem.”

“What—?”

“Before, I was unknowingly putting the entire world at risk by – by waking up after the Unknowing, by crawling out of the Buried, by escaping the Hunters, by continuing to read statements like it was – like it was something routine, as unremarkable as – as taking tea. Now, though – now I know better. I know what Jonah is planning, I saw what I’m capable of, and still I… I don’t want to die.”

“Well… good,” Martin says. “You should want to live–”

“It doesn’t much matter what I want–”

“–I never wanted to weigh up the value of a life, to set it on the scales against my own, but that’s a choice that I am forced into–”

“–doesn’t get to die for that – gets to live, trapped and helpless, and entombed forever – powerless–”

“–a lynchpin for this new ritual – a record of fear–”

Shit, Martin thinks the instant he recognizes the statement. It’s the worst of them all, virtually guaranteed to send Jon spiraling.

“–both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you – a living chronicle of terror – a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom–”

“Okay, okay, stay with me–”

“–the Chosen one is simply that: someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck–”

“Jon, can you hear me? Jon–”

“–I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but my god, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was–”

Martin reaches over, taking both of Jon’s hands in his own and squeezing tightly. The pressure seems to do the trick: lucidity sparks in Jon’s eyes and he takes a deep, ragged breath, as if coming up for air.

“There you are. Are you okay?” Martin rubs both thumbs over the backs of Jon’s hands in rhythmic, soothing motions. “Hey, it’s–”

“I don’t want your kindness!” Jon snaps, jerking backwards and snatching his hands out from Martin’s grip.

Both of them lapse into a stunned silence. As mortification dawns on Jon’s face, Martin can feel the color rising in his cheeks. It only takes a few seconds for the blood rushing in his ears to be drowned out by another voice.

Martin can remember with cutting clarity the days prior to his mother’s departure to the nursing home. She had been in (somewhat) rare form, her already-short fuse dwindled down to nothing, sniping at him around the clock, full of caustic observations and spiteful accusations.

I don’t want your help, she had sneered as she entered the cab, swatting his hand away.

It was one of the last things she ever said to him.

“Well, tough,” Martin bites out, “because you deserve it, and you never should’ve had to go without it, and you’re not going to change my mind about that, so you may as well stop trying!”

“Martin, I – I – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

He saw, Martin realizes all at once, his skin crawling with humiliation.

“I’m going to go make some tea,” Martin says, rising to his feet.

Jon reaches out a hand. “Martin–”

“I just need a breather, okay?” Martin says, a pleading note to his voice. His lungs are constricting, his chest is tightening, there’s a lump in his throat, and he really doesn’t want to have a panic attack in the tunnels – or in front of Jon. “I’m not – I’m not angry, okay, I just need some air.”

Jon opens his mouth, then immediately closes it, clutches his hands to his chest, and gives a tiny nod that Martin just barely glimpses before turning to flee.

_________________

“Stop crying,” Jon hisses at himself, furiously scrubbing at his face as the tears slide down his cheeks. “Stop it.”

He plasters the heels of his hands over his closed eyelids. It does nothing to stem the flow, only brings to mind images of pressing himself bodily against a door to hold it closed, only for the crack to continue widening, millimeter after millimeter, the flood on the other side trickling through the gap, rivulets swelling into rivers, frigid eddies biting at his ankles, a whitewater undertow threatening to drag him below the waves–

“Enjoying our own company, are we?”

Once, Jon might have been humiliated to be caught mid-breakdown, raw-voiced and puffy-eyed, especially by Peter Lukas of all people. Several lifetimes spent in thrall to cosmic horrors have a way of putting things in perspective.

“What do you want?” Jon says with as much ire as he can muster.

Peter hums to himself, starting a slow, back-and-forth pace in front of Jon. “It occurred to me that I’ve been derelict in my duties as far as the Archives are concerned–”

“That’s just now occurring to you?”

“–and, as such, I thought it was high time that I met the infamous Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.”

“Well,” Jon scoffs, gesturing at himself, “you’ve met him.”

“I must admit, I was expecting something a bit more… hm.” Peter taps a finger against his lips. “Formidable.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” The scathing sarcasm is rendered pitiful by an ill-timed, involuntary sniffle. Jon can’t bring himself to care.

“The state you’re in, you hardly seem fit to work.” A pause. “Have you ever considered taking some time off?”

“A six-months hospital stay has a way of eating up your PTO, oddly enough. I’m told that payroll already has already had to make special exceptions for my ‘unprecedented’ circumstances.” Jon chuckles to himself. “On multiple occasions. Did you know the Institute considers a kidnapping in the line of duty to be an ‘unexcused absence?’”

“I think you’ll find that Elias and I have different management styles,” Peter says mildly. “I’m open to making allowances – particularly since your department can function so smoothly in your absence. Your assistants have proven themselves to be quite capable of working independently – and seeing as your approach to supervision borders on fraternization, I imagine they would be more productive without excess drama to distract them.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Jon says acerbically.

“No need.” Jon squints at him, and Peter stare him down. “It’s not a request, Archivist. It’s an order.”

There was a time, not long ago, that sneaking up on the Archivist would have been difficult. Only Helen had consistently managed to ambush him, and that was because she didn’t waste time sneaking – she manifested and launched the jump scare in the same instant, giving him no chance to See her approach. Readjusting to a binocular point of view had been a process, but rarely does he find himself yearning for the panoramic field of vision that had been foisted upon him during the apocalypse.

Occasionally, though, there are moments when 360° sight would come in handy. Too late, Jon realizes this is one of those moments.

By the time he notices the tendrils of encroaching fog, they’re already curling around from behind him, pooling at his feet, ghosting across the back of his neck, affixing themselves around his wrists.

“It’s alright,” Peter says placidly, almost soothingly. “You can let go now.”

Jon shivers as his heart pumps ice through his veins, fingers and toes going numb as he struggles for breath.

No. No, no, no, no, no–

“I am not Lonely anymore,” Jon gasps out through chattering teeth.

“No,” Peter says with an air of nonchalance. Then he smiles, sharp and cold and cruel and the only detail Jon can still discern through the fog. “But you will be.”

___

End Notes:

Daisy: hey siri, google what to do if i suspect my bff has been possessed by the ghost of a fussy paleornithologist Jon: why are you booing me????? i’m right

Pretty sure this is the longest chapter yet? Probably bc of the statement. I could’ve split it into two, but, uh. I like that cliffhanger where it is. >:3c (Sorry for that, btw.)

Quite a bit of Archive-speak this chapter. Citations as follows: Section 1: 122/124/011/007/047/155. The Xiaoling quote is from MAG 105; the Jonah quote is ofc from 160; the Naomi quote is from 013. Section 3: 181. Section 5: 058 x2; 144/130/086/143/121/149/134/144/143/069; 147; 017; 147; 057/160/106/111/067/121/129/098; 155/128/160; 160 x3. Section 6: 170, of course.

I’m taking wild liberties with Pu Songling Research Centre’s whole deal. I’m conceptualizing their spookier departments as being like… actually academia-oriented, instead of “local Victorian corpse with illusions of godhood throws a bunch of traumatized nerds with no relevant archival experience into a basement, what happens next will shock you”. Xiaoling is out here like “our digitization is still a work in progress, I’m sure you know how it is” and Jon Sims is like “digitization who? i don’t know her”. (Listen, he tried once. Tape recorder was haunted, he got kidnapped a bunch, there were worms and things, he died (he got better), his boss used him as a battering ram to open a door to Fearpocalypse Hell – it was a lot.)

Likewise, we didn’t get much info about Sonja in canon, so I’m having fun envisioning her as a certified Force To Be Reckoned With (and a bit of a Mama Bear wrt her assistants). Most of the Institute is leery of the Archives (& especially Jon) but Sonja’s seen a lot of shit and Jon Sims doesn’t even rank on her list of Top Spooky Scary Things.

re: the statement – it’s not clear in-text, but I want to clarify that I’m not conceptualizing Francis Drake as being influenced by the Hunt. Fictionalizing aspects of history is tricky, and I’d feel personally uncomfortable chalking up Drake’s real life atrocities to supernatural influence, even in fiction. In the case of this particular fictional member of his crew, he was (like Drake’s real-life crew) complicit in following Drake’s orders for entirely mundane reasons and was only marked by the Hunt at the point in his statement where he first recounts hearing the Hunt chasing after him.

At some point in writing this chapter, I had 137 tabs open in my browser for Research Purposes and like 20 of those were bc my dumb ass seriously considered writing that statement in Elizabethan English before going “what are you DOING, actually.” If I’d tried, it would have come off as inauthentic at best, if not ridiculous, bc I’m unfamiliar with English linguistic trends of the 1500s, and I’d basically be badly mimicking Shakespearean English, which isn’t necessarily indicative of how everyone spoke at the time, and I don’t know what colloquial speech would look like for this particular unnamed character I trotted out as exposition fodder, and it was probably unnecessary to formulate a whole-ass personal history for him for the sake of Historical Realism for a single section of a single chapter of a fanfic, and… In the end, I decided that this pseudo-immortal rando can tell his life story in modernized English, as a treat (to me) (and also to those of you who don’t think of slogging through bastardized Elizabethan prose as a fun endeavor).

Speaking of research – shoutout to this dissertation that had an English translation of the Herla story in Walter Map’s De nugis curialium, and if you want to read the whole story, you can find it on pages 16-18 of that paper. I feel it’s important for you all to know that IMMEDIATELY after Map dramatically proclaims, “the dog has not yet alighted, and the story says that this King Herla still holds on his mad course with his band in eternal wanderings, without stop or stay,” he goes on to say in the next breath “buuuut some people say they all jumped into the River Wye and died, so ymmv. ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ anyways, can I interest you in more Fucked Up If True tales?” (Herla throwing the dog into the river wasn’t in the original story though. I made that part up.)

Thank you so much for reading! <3

[novannna]

Idk if this counts as a fic request? But If you're cool with it, maybe you can write a little thing about your OCs? I really liked hearing about Sloane and Jordan!!

ANON I LOVE YOUUUUU

ahhh i will forever talk ab them 🥺🥺 i love them so much tysm for listenign me scream incoherently ab them

i wasn't exactly sure what you wanted, so i wrote their first meeting (if you wanted something different, lemme know, i will happily write more of them ajhfsadf)

some background info that i may or may not have already said, idk, but im saying again: Jordan's name is technically Lydia Jordan, she changes it after she meets sloane, sloane works for a nameless organization where people hire thieves to steal for them, through the organization, and the organization in turn provides housing, and food, and safety, as well as guaranteed jobs.

this is all probably v confusing im so bad at explaining stuff, ask if you have questions!

also i kinda dont like this i was only partly coherent when i wrote this, but whatever :)

Sloane pulled at her dress, nose wrinkling as the fabric itched against her skin.

“Are you sure I have to wear shoes Elias?” She asked the man next to them.

He glared at her. “Yes. Sloane, this is for real now. You have to act proper. Stop fidgeting.”

Sloane sulked. “I am proper.”

Elias groaned. “Why did I have to be the one stuck with a fucking child?”

“I’m not a child!” Sloane protested. “I’ll knock you to your ass again, if you want me to prove it. And you’re only 10 years older than me, it’s not that much!”

“If you’re so grown up, then stop complaining.”

Sloane glared but didn’t say anything. They were sitting in a carriage, waiting to arrive at the Duke of Cantol’s manor. They had been hired to steal a case of jewels, hidden away somewhere within the grand building. The only way to steal them was to pose as nobles, and infiltrate the Duke’s solstice party themselves.

This was Sloane’s first real job. Before this, she had only done petty crime for the elders. Minor pickpocketing, and stealing for low paying clients.

This was their chance to prove themself, both as a thief worthy of jobs given out by the elders, and a chance to prove that she wasn’t merely a child.

The only problem was, Sloane had never interacted with nobles before. The other thieves had put her through rigorous training, everything from how to respond to questions, to which cutlery to use.

But it didn’t matter if this was all new to her. Sloane was prepared. These were high stakes, where they worked best. They wouldn’t fail.

Slowly, the carriage pulled to a halt.

“Remember, do not speak out of turn. You know your job?” Elias asked.

Sloane nodded. “Find out where the jewels are, then report back to you. I remember everything.”

Elias nodded, only partially sated. “And-”

“And don’t complain,” Sloane interrupted. “I know.”

“Good. Don’t forget who you are, and who they are. Don’t give them a reason to doubt you.”

Sloane nodded. Though her face was a perfect mask of emotions, her stomach was writhing. Their fingers were tapping out a pattern onto her leg, the familiar motion a relief.

Elias opened the door, and together they stepped out onto the lush lawn.

---

Lydia hated everything, she had decided. She hated her dress, which pinched her ribs and kept her from breathing in a deep breath. She hated her shoes, terrible contraptions that threatened to send her tumbling to the floor with each step. She hated all the formal dinners that her family had to attend.

It was ridiculous! Why couldn’t they just stay in Roidan? It’s where they lived, after all. There was no point in traveling across the country to attend a pointless dinner.

But, despite everything there was a glimmer of hope in Lydia. A week ago, she had heard whispers of priceless jewels within the Duke of Cantol’s manor, and an anonymous person who had wished to possess them. Lydia had heard that someone would steal them, and she was determined to stop them. Determined to show how skilled she was with both her blades and her wit. Determined to show that she wasn’t the helpless little girl everyone insisted on seeing.

Lydia was so much more. She just needed everyone else to see it as well.

“Lydia! Stop pouting, and hurry up!” Her mom bustled into the room, her gown an atrocious combination of velvet and tulle. It nearly swallowed Lydia up, as her mom grabbed her hand, and pulled her through the doorway.

“The Duke was kind enough to allow us to stay here, and you thank him by making us late?” Her mother sighed. “When will you grow up?”

Lydia bit back a retort, instead gripped the handle of a dagger buried within the folds of her dress. It had been her fathers, until she had stolen it years ago and taught herself how to use it.

Lydia kept her mouth shut, and her fingers strangling the hard hilt. Head raised high, Lydia followed her mother down the grand stairs, and into the dining room.

The room was large, with at least twenty people sitting around a large, deep mahogany table. Lydia vaguely wondered how much it had cost.

Looking around the table, she barely registered the faces. She knew everyone. Until her gaze settled on a mismatched pair, sitting closest to the door.

A man, with short red hair, and soft pink skin sat next to a girl, looking to be about Lydia’s age. The girl had dark skin and hair a black so deep, Lydia thought she was looking at a starless sky. She was not from here, that was for sure. Lydia felt herself be drawn to her, as if some form of magnetic attraction.

“Lydia,” her mother hissed. “Sit!” She nearly forced Lydia into the chair, right next to the duke himself.

Lydia tried not to grimace. She didn’t want to spend the evening wearing a forced smile and pretend to be the perfect lady. She looked up again, trying to spot a glimpse of the other girl. She sat perfectly still, her back almost like a ruler. Her face was perfectly poised, just the slightest hint of a smile, no sign of anger or uncomfortableness. She looked perfectly at ease.

Lydia had to stop herself from sighing. Disappointing. Another perfect noble, someone Lydia could never be. Never wanted to be.

And then, she spotted the crack in the other girl's impenetrable armor. Her fingers, tapping out an anxious rhythm against the elegant table cloth. That tiny sliver of personality, of imperfection made Lydia almost burst into a grin.

Under the layers of makeup, and finery, and jewels, she was still a child, just like Lydia. She was human. She was human, and she was real, and maybe, just maybe, Lydia could be real too.

But it was foolish to entertain such an unrealistic notion. So Lydia tamped her smile down, and turned to her food, ignoring the stare the other girl was burning into her head.

---

“Who will be most likely to know where the jewels are?” Elias asked Sloane under his breath.

Sloane glanced around the table. “The Duke, and a few of the servants.” Her eyes were fixed on the only other child at the table. A girl, around her age sat next to the Duke, her blonde hair twisted into a bun. A few strands had escaped, and were floating loose around her head. The girl was staring at her food, refusing to look around.

“Sloane!” Elias hissed.

Sloane stiffened with annoyance. “What?” they spat.

“I asked who you will need to talk to to discern the location of the jewels?”

“This isn’t a quiz. You don’t need to test me, I’ll get it done.”

“I do, actually,” Elias responded. “I’m not just here to steal, I’m here to supervise and see if you actually could handle a permanent position within the organization. The elders asked me to oversee, and if all went satisfactory, then you would get a chance. And if not… well failure isn’t tolerated.”

Sloane froze. She knew a lot had been riding on this for her, but she hadn’t known how much. She hadn’t known everything was.

“I’ll ask again. Who will you ask?”

“The girl,” Sloane said quickly. She nodded across the table pointedly.

“Her? She has no idea where they are!”

Sloane sighed. “Yes, but young ears are attuned to what others miss. And, I’m her age. Befriend her, get her to trust me, and I’ll find them.”

“You think that’ll work?” Elias scoffed.

“I’m willing to bet everything on it,” Sloane responded. She turned her fiery gaze to him. “Trust me, I can do this.”

Elias hesitated, before reluctantly nodding. “If you’re sure… But the servants would be a better choice.”

Sloane didn’t respond. They turned her gaze back to the girl, mind already racing to plot it all out.

---

Lydia walked her perfect little steps, completely in sync with her mom. She kept her head bowed low, and eyes downcast.

Perfect daughter, perfect lady.

God, she was tired of it all. Her hands had the imprint of a dagger on them, from clutching the blade so tight.

A hand reached out, touching her shoulder.

It was the girl, a slight smile on her face and a far off gleam in her eyes.

Her other companion stood right behind her, his suit tailored and pressed to perfection.

“My Lady, if I may,” he said smoothly, his voice like butter, “my young cousin hasn’t often gotten the opportunity to interact with ones of her own age. I was wondering, with your permission, if the two of them might be able to talk, if only for a bit?” His hands rested on the girls shoulders.

Lydia looked up at her mom, daring to hope.

“I suppose. My little girl is much the same. Why don’t we let the two of them run along to the library.” Her mom knelt down her face at Lydia’s level now. “Learn what you can about them, yes dear? What threat they may pose to your future crown. And don’t forget who you are.” She gripped Lydia’s shoulders tightly.

Lydia nodded. Always some scheme, and other motive. Just once, could her mother let her have something with no string attached?

“Good girl. Now run along, and don’t forget.” With a barely concealed shove, she sent Lydia tumbling down a side hallway, the other girl close behind.

Lydia led them to the library, not bothering to talk. Her throat was tight with something other than tears. She pushed open the ornate wooden doors, and practically collapsed inside.

The other girl looked around the room with a critical eye. Looking at everything, Lydia noted. Interesting.

“Where are you from?” Lydia blurted out. “I’ve never seen you before.”

The other girl turned to face her, amused. “You presume to know everyone in this world, then?” Her voice was more rough than Lydia expected, and strangely lilted, as if trying to hide something underneath.

Lydia blushed. “No. But I know most nobles. I’ve never met you before. So, where are you from?”

“Abrynth, as are you.”

“You don’t look it,” Lydia retorted bluntly.

The other girl laughed. “Straight forwards and honest. You're different.” Not a question, just a simple fact.

But it was so much more.

“And is that good?” Lydia couldn’t help but ask.

The other girl paused. “Well, I personally think that when everything’s the same, we lose sight of what we are as a whole.”

“And that is….?”

The other girl grinned, showing a flash of white teeth. “One people, no good and no bad. All unique and all the same. Something so beautiful and powerful.”

“So good then?”

“Definitely.” The other girl extended a hand out to Lydia. “I’m Sloane.”

Lydia paused, hesitant to reply. She didn’t want this girl to know the proper lady she was supposed to be. The one raised to one day court the prince, and hopefully become queen. The one whose very name meant royalty. Her mom’s voice echoed in her head, saying, “Lydia means noble one, beautiful one. You’ll live up to that one day. Focus, and one day you’ll be queen, at the King’s side.”

Lydia hated that version of herself. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t her.

But she was a Jordan. Sharp tongued and quick witted. Handy with a blade, but not so with words. She was her fathers daughter, the son he had wanted in every way but gender.

“Jordan,” Lydia replied, shaking Sloane’s hand firmly. Just a single word, but it changed everything. And it felt so right.

“I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance,” Sloane said, grinning.

“Likewise.”

---

Despite everything, Sloane couldn’t help but like Jordan. The noble was more aware than the others. She was smart, and bright, and honest.

But Sloane only felt a little guilty about using her. It wasn’t like she was hurting Jordan by doing this anyways. She was helping herself, and no one else. It wasn’t as if Jordan wanted for anything, after all. She was a noble. The world practically bowed at her feet.

“Is this your first time here?” Jordan asked, breaking the silence.

Sloane nodded. “My cousin doesn’t often travel. This is his first time bringing me anywhere.”

“Your parents don’t bring you?”

Sloane froze, unsure how to respond. What had they decided her backstory was? Fuck.

“They’re dead. I live with my cousin now, at least till I’m old enough to be on my own.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jordan said, actually seeming sincere.

Sloane smiled slightly. “Thank you. I try not to think about it too much.”

Jordan nodded. “Well, that’s understandable.”

Sloane nodded, with what they hoped was appreciation. In truth, it felt more like a grimace.

For a few hours, Sloane let them get lost in the world. She and Jordan talked about everything. Sloane was surprised by their similarities. It was only when Jordan’s shoulders finally relaxed, and her fists stopped clenching in her dress, that sloane knew the other girl fully trusted her.

“I was wondering,” she added, making her tone more shy, and apprehensive. “My uncle had mentioned the Duke was an avid collector of all things old. Have you seen any of them?”

Jordan’s face gleamed. “No, but I know where they are,” she said, smirking. “Do you want to see?”

Sloane hesitated. “Is that allowed?”

Jordan’s grin widened. “No.” She extended a hand, and Sloane hesitantly placed her own inside it.

She knew she had been right. Jordan had been the right person to use. She was leading Sloane towards the goal, not a doubt in her mind. Sloane would earn her place within the organization. The elders would see that she truly was a worthy thief. She’d show them.

Sloane followed Jordan as she led them out of the library, and through the halls. They were mostly quiet now, the guests retired to the parlor by now. It was just Sloane and Jordan, almost as if no one else had ever existed.

Jordan stopped in front of a door, and slowly pushed it inwards.

Sloane bit back a gasp as she saw the trove of treasures within. The room was a study, but it seemed more storage than anything. Priceless pieces were arranged on bookshelves and cases all over the room.

Old pieces of pottery, and intricate blades. Tapestries, and scrolls cracked with age.

But no jewels. Yet.

“Oh,” Sloane breathed, breathless from the beauty. And anger crackling within her ribs. These were all no doubt stolen from other nations and people. She couldn’t help but wonder how many of these things had come without the price of blood.

Jordan was similarly mesmerized, her eyes stuck on a pair of matching daggers.

“This is amazing,” Sloane said. “There’s so much.”

Jordan’s eyes brightened. “But would you like to see more?”

Sloane’s body tensed with anticipation. She was only supposed to locate the jewels, but if she could steal them now, then it would be less risky, wouldn’t it? No one would believe Jordan if she said the other girl at dinner had taken them. Barely anyone even noticed them. She doubted that they had all even realized she had been there.

“There’s more?” Sloane widened her eyes.

Jordan grinned, and stepped to a tapestry hanging on the walls. “I heard from a servant that the Duke had demanded nobody touch this tapestry. Claimed it was fragile. But-” she tugged it off the wall, sending the fabric tumbling to the floor. “I believe differently,” she said proudly, standing next to a newly revealed hole in the wall. A small wooden chest gleamed from within. Sloane felt her feet carry her closer, her deft fingers opening the box, and a smile lighting up her face as a collection of red, blue, and white stones gleamed up at her.

“Are these…?” Sloane asked, barely needing confirmation.

Jordan peared over her shoulder. “Ruby, diamond, and sapphire,” she whispered. “That’s gotta be worth…” she whistled. “At least 300,000 crowns.”

Sloane grinned. Confirmation enough. She snapped the lid shut, and turned to face Jordan sharply.

“Thank you, My Lady,” Sloane smirked, curtsying shallowly. “You’ve been quite helpful.” She grabbed the tiny chest, and shoved it into a pocket sewn into the inside of her skirt.

Jordan stared at her slack jawed with confusion. Then, realization dawned upon her. “It was you! You were the one who was going to steal tonight.”

Sloane stared at the girl, head cocked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I knew someone was attempting to steal tonight. But it should have been a man! An adult! You… You’re just a little girl.”

Sloane snorted. “Well, that little girl has places to be, and money to make. Get out of my way Jordan.”

“You used me,” Jordan spat. “I wanted a friend for the night, and you just wanted those jewels.”

Sloane rolled her eyes. “Don’t take it personally. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t completely lie about everything, I was pleased to make your acquaintance. You led me here, after all.” Sloane smirked. She was on top of the world. She was going to prove the world that she was good. She wasn’t just another useless pickpocket. That one day, she was going places. “Now get out of my way, and forget you ever met me. It’s easier for both of us that way.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t let that happen.” She reached into the folds of her dress, and drew a long silver dagger.

“Put that back before you kill yourself,” Sloane scoffed.

“Try me.” Jordan was all hard edges now. Gone was the soft laughter, and gently smiles. She was completely serious.

Sloane was starting to think that Jordan was more than she had said she was. But it didn’t matter. No matter how good Jordan might be, Sloane would be better. She wasn’t ready to let herself be defeated by a noble. Not now, not ever.

Sloane darted forwards, quicker than lightning. She jabbed under Jordan’s stomach, knocking the wind out of the girl.

Jordan recovered quickly, and threw a punch towards Sloane’s face, grazing her cheek bone.

Sloane ducked under another blow, and kicked her legs out at Jordan’s face while flipping out of the noble’s hands.

Jordan knew what she was doing, Sloane would admit. In a fair fight, she may even stand a chance. But Sloane didn’t fight fair. She fought rough, and dirty. She survived, no matter what her actions were. That's where the two girls differed.

Sloane tackled Jordan, knocking them into a display case, the glass breaking under their weight.

“You aren’t getting away,” Jordan grunted.

Sloane laughed. “Keep telling yourself that,” she hissed. Sloane grinned, and leapt away from Jordan, right before the girl swung a punch towards her unprotected face.

Sloane backed away quickly, letting Jordan block the door.

“Nowhere to go,” Jordan taunted. “What’ll you do now.”

“My lady, it has been a pleasure,” Sloane said, bowing deeply. “But I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere, and must call it a night.” In a single smooth motion, Sloane leapt out of the window, sending jagged shards of glass everywhere.

Jordan leapt forwards, too late to stop her.

Sloane had managed to catch a hold of the balcony on the next room over, and was quickly scaling down the wall, using ledges and decorative gargoyles as holds, Jordan’s silver dagger clenched between her teeth.

Sloane finally dropped to the ground, and waved up at Jordan standing far above. She slipped the stolen dagger into her waistline, and reached up into her skirt, pulling out the jewels.

The box was still shut tight, the contents rattling around inside.

“What the hell?” Elias screamed, running around the corner. “Locate them! You were supposed to locate them! We need to go, before the Duke realizes a child tried to steal his prize jewels.” He hooked his arm through Sloane’s and started dragging her away. “You aren’t ready to steal them. You ruined the job, for both of us.” He glared at Sloane. “You are taking blame for this. This is your failure.”

“Failure?” Sloane asked. “What do you mean? I got them!” She held out the box, rattling the jewels inside.”

Elias stopped dead in his tracks. “You got them? You actually succeeded?”

“Yes,” Sloane responded, her voice laced with annoyance. “I’m a good thief, a good fighter, a good liar. I’ve been trying to prove this to you all along. I did it. Will you recommend me to the elders now?”

Elias sniffed. “You are reckless, arrogant, loud. You are unable to follow simple instructions. But, you got it done.” He smiled slightly. “You impressed me, little thief. Well done.”

Sloane grinned. She cast her gaze back to the broken window one last time, where she could make out the shape of Jordan, still standing and staring at the two thieves.

Sloane bowed, as if she was on a stage, performing some great act. Then she hurried to catch up to Elias, and her future.

---

Lydia was furious with her mother, with Sloane, but mostly with herself. She had allowed Sloane to find the jewels, and couldn’t even stop her. Lydia was a failure.

But she wouldn’t be again.

Sloane may have bested Lydia once, but never again. She’d see the thief again, and Lydia would catch her, and prove to the world that she was more than just a lady, meant to sit and look pretty. She was strong, smart, and talented.

She’d catch the thief, and show them all who she was.

Not a beautiful noble lady, as her first name suggested.

No. Lydia had never felt right for a reason. It wasn’t who she was. She was Jordan, loyal to the country, and to herself.

She wasn’t anything but that.

Her name was Jordan, and she would catch Sloane, and make her hurt for giving Jordan a glimpse of a future she could never have. .

[star-birthmark]

Silent Saviors: 4taro x Fem Reader

Finally... FINALLY IT IS DONE! This is infernal ask that has been in my inbox for so long!!! Thank you to @stardustbrosaders for the request all those months ago lol. This was the request: “Heya! Would it be possible to write a P4! Jotaro x Female! Reader where the reader gets her stand under stress from a battle? The group almost gets defeated but the reader’s stand appears and she beats the enemy, saving everyone? For the readers stand type could it be close range like SP and CD?”

I also drew the reader’s stand for this fic. You can find a link to the stand info here. 

This is a long ass fic btw. It’s literally 11 THOUSAND WORDS. I don’t know what compelled me to make the fic this long. I really don’t. But I did and here we are. I hope you like it, no matter how long it is!

Quick content warnings: General violence and angst, strangulation, murder (duh)

Without further ado: Silent Saviors: 4taro x Fem Reader (11k words)

A dark force was afoot in the town of Morioh once more, but it had just been a long day, and no progress had been made to capture that force. The team’s morale was low. The exhausted high school students stumbled home to catch a good night’s rest, thoughts of ongoing danger in their small town looming over their heads. The young manga artist Rohan Kishibe grumbled to himself about his failures, wondering how a genius like him could not decipher this mystery like he had last time. You felt a heavy air of unrest lay over the town as you awkwardly shifted in your seat on the ride to the Grand Hotel, looking over at your travel mate as he silently ran over the facts in his head. He shook his head in frustration. None of this made any sense. All the victims had been killed in the same way, so it must be a stand, one that didn’t leave behind any evidence, one potentially even more dangerous than Kira. 

A dark force was afoot in the town of Morioh once more, but you didn’t know anything about the first monstrous event that had occurred. The small town’s silent saviors all agreed with one another to seal their lips and tell no one what had really happened. Not that anyone would have believed them. 

But you would have. Your travel partner didn’t know anything yet, but the more time you two spent in this strange town, the crazier you felt you were becoming. You were seeing objects levitate in the air, you were seeing arms stick out from these bizarre teenagers. At this point, you’d believe anything just to make it all stop. You stumbled inside from the taxi, convinced this small town was driving you insane. 

Your partner turned to you in front of your hotel room, his own room right next door, and placed his large hands on your shoulders. 

“Are you alright (y/n)? If any of this investigation gets to be too much for you, just tell me and I’ll send you on the next flight back home.” 

You snort tiredly. “Too much for me? Jotaro you look exhausted… You haven’t been taking breaks from the case at all…  You’re always so anxious. Do you promise you’ll actually go to bed this time?” 

Jotaro looked down at you and moved his hands from you, sighing heavily. “Yeah… I promise…” 

You give him a shy smile before shrugging. “Besides… you need me, don’t you? Weren’t you the one that said I’m the only one that calms you down?” 

Jotaro gulped and broke eye contact with you, his own silent way of admitting that you were right. You chuckled and opened the door to your hotel room, giving him one last look and goodnight before you left to go to bed. You would wake up about two hours later from the sound of your partner’s shuffling about in his room next door. You slipped on a thick crew neck over your thin tank top and shorts and open to the door connecting to the two rooms. 

You peaked your head past the door to find a familiar sight before you. Pictures were tacked onto a corkscrew board, red thread connecting the dots to draw the group one step closer to solving the crimes. Files were splayed out over the desk, a map of the small Japanese town resting on the nearby bed, etched with red Xs displaying the sites where several young men and women met their demise. Amongst the mess, you found the broad shoulders of a tired Jotaro Kujo hunched over the desk, the young man still looking at the mountains of documents, eager to find the path to justice. It was hidden in those pages, he was sure of it. It had been your third night together in that hotel, and it was evident that you two would be there for much longer.  

---

“Miss (L/N) it says here that you have received your degree in zoology and graduated at the top of your major.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And it says here that you recently led an academic study of marine biology that went very well back home.”

“Yes sir, and it would be an honor to join this esteemed team of scientists here at SPW.”

It was the year 1998, and you were interviewing to work at the Speedwagon Foundation. You had graduated atop your class, and had a passion for your work that few possessed, as well success that few could show for. You prayed that this interview was going well. The Foundation was the utmost important center of scientific research in the world and you didn’t want to waste an opportunity to work there. You watched the smile on your interviewer’s face as he reviewed your credentials before setting the paper down. 

“Miss (L/N) I’d like to welcome you aboard our team. I believe you will contribute much to our efforts.”

Your face lit up in excitement and you rushed to shake his hand. “Thank you so much sir, I won’t let you down! If I could ask what position you’re hiring me for?”  

“You see we have an opening for an assistant with the Kujo lab. Since you’re just starting off here- you’ll be assisting him in meetings and in bench work-”

“Excuse me... the Kujo lab? As in Jotaro Kujo? Isn’t he my age?” You interrupt nervously. 

“Why yes miss… is there an issue?”

“Well no sir it’s just… I thought perhaps I’d be working under an esteemed professor… I didn’t think someone fresh out of grad school would already have a lab to himself… Not to sound ungrateful of course, I just didn’t realize I would be working under one of my contemporaries…” 

A sigh came to the man and leaned back in his chair, thinking about how to explain the situation. 

“Miss (y/n), the reason I’m placing you in Kujo’s lab is that I feel the two of you would work well together, given your similar backgrounds and parallel personalities…” You furrow your brow, unsure what the supervisor meant until you were face to face with Jotaro Kujo himself a few days later. 

You still remembered the day well. You hung your coat up on a nearby hook and looked about the lab. Documents were piled over every available surface with no particular organization. A large fish tank stood in the far corner, a wild variety of fish encased within. Anatomical posters of aquatic life were all over the walls, and right by the window sat Jotaro. He hadn’t looked up when you came in. Approaching his desk, you stared down at the mass of black hair on the top of his head. Soon clearing your throat, the young doctoral student’s head shot up to look at you blankly. You opened your mouth to speak, taken aback by his unemotional expression, nervously turning to a notebook you had on hand.

“Uh… um… My name is (y/n) (l/n), your new coworker. I would like to thank you for allowing me into your lab. I had been going over your most recent papers on the social patterns of starfish on the eastern-most coast of Japan and I was just wondering if-”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

You looked up from your notes and into the young man’s deep blue eyes, your breath catching in your throat. You struggled to form a sentence under the intense gaze, your breath shuttering out from your lips, and you looked back down at your notes. 

“I’m (y/n) (l/n)... your new coworker.” 

Jotaro nodded slowly, considering what you had just said. You watched as he removed his large white overcoat and leaned back in his chair, donned in a fitted black t-shirt. 

“Why did they hire you?” You lean forward confused, your ear facing him. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Why did they hire you?” 

You look away for a moment, considering his now nervous expression, his nervous tick of chewing on his lip, his small twitches of the eye, his clenching and unclenching of his jaw. You looked down, finding his leg bouncing anxiously against the floor. A small, sweet smile came to you, and you opened your mouth to speak, alerting his attention. 

“You and I apparently have parallel personalities… according to them.”

You watched as Jotaro’s lips curved into a shy smile and he got up from his seat, grabbing a notepad from a nearby drawer. He then turned to you and extended his arm out, pointing. You followed the direction of his hand and saw a separate desk facing his at the other end of the office. You turned back and quickly nodded, rushing to set your things down and then turning to face him once more. 

Jotaro nodded courteously at you. “Have you read my most recent work?” 

“Yes, I just told you that I did that-”

“Good. Come to the meeting with me then.”

You followed after him into a nearby boardroom, unsure of the situation about to befall you. The meeting began. Executives discussed their most recent funding prospects, deciding whether or not to continue their spending, depending on how successful the trials had been. You sat patiently in your chair, listening to the others argue frankly amongst themselves. A steady, fast tapping upon the table commanded your attention and you turned over to see Jotaro staring off into the distance, his fingers rapidly tapping on the desk, his whole form shaking with sensory overload. 

“Mr. Kujo? And you?” You watched as Jotaro’s head shot up and he looked around the room. He hadn’t been listening, his mind had been too overcome with anxieties. 

“I um… I uh… W-what were-” 

You watched nervously as this man came undone at his seams. You cleared your throat and tapped the table next to his notepad. Getting the message, Jotaro grabbed the notepad quickly and anxiously flipped through its pages. 

“Um… sorry about that. I would like to further my research- wait no this is on the wrong page. Wait no it’s not… wait-” 

You looked around as the listeners began to get frustrated, looking at each other in jest of one of their top researchers. You chewed nervously on your finger, hoping Jotaro would pull himself together. It was your first day working with him, and it was already troublesome.

“I would like to further the research done in my penultimate paper. Or was it my most recent...”

“Mr. Kujo, we would have liked for you to have prepared for this meeting…” 

“No no… I did. I did. Wait-”

With a quick motion, you reached over and placed a hand on Jotaro’s shoulder, calmly taking the notepad from him and then turning to the group. Jotaro looked away, still visibly shaken. 

“Mr. Kujo clearly states in his most recent paper that he plans to continue his research, at a different coastal region, comparing more behaviors there to make sure that this past successful trial wasn’t any sort of spontaneous fluke. He writes in his goals of perhaps inspecting the regional colonies of starfish around S-Town… Following that, he plans to remain in contact with the genomic department and track genetic similarities between human and aquatic life that may explain the similar social patterns between the two.” 

You explain to them all, having memorized the paper. Turning to the notepad, you saw what Jotaro had written in preparation for the meeting. You then turned back to the investors.

“Mr. Kujo kindly asks that you aid him in his funding so that mankind as a whole may find a better understanding of the natural world… That’s all he wanted to say. He just couldn’t find the right page. Sir.”

You reached back and placed the notepad back near Jotaro’s shaking hand. You returned your hand back to the other’s shoulder, squeezing gently to reassure the scientist that he was alright. The young man turned to you in a bit of surprise, not expecting your presence to calm him oh so much. The executives all took in your words and the head of the meeting slowly nodded. 

“Well… thank you for your assistance, miss…?” 

“(l/n).”

“Right well thank you… We will consider Mr. Kujo’s work for a second trial.”

“Thank you. He appreciates it.” With that, you let go of Jotaro’s shoulder.

The meeting soon adjourned, You got up to leave your seat when you felt Jotaro’s hand grab your shoulder. You turned around to see him slowly stand up from his chair. 

“Thank you. I’m not a big fan of speaking to them…”

You nodded quickly. “Yes…  of course…”

From that day on, the two of you were inseparable. Having experienced the horrific acts done to him and to those he loved back in his teenage years, Jotaro was convinced that you were the only one who could calm his constant nerves and anxieties. You became his most powerful tool against the outside world. You understood his work perfectly, understood his mannerisms perfectly, and respected his need for silence in the office. You knew how to say things the way he would himself, and you had no fear discussing them to other people. The two of you became much closer over the months of your working. Jotaro became much less of an enigma in your eyes. It would be a few months until Jotaro would unwillingly reveal his more “secret” projects. 

The first time you saw the arrow, Jotaro did not want you to see it. But still, what happened that day would forever change your relationship with the young scientist. You had arrived early, hoping to surprise him with a hot breakfast and a smile. You turn the corner to walk into the lab, yet when you go to open the door, you find it locked. Strange. Looking inside the room, you find Jotaro hunched over his desk in focus, in the same clothes as the day before, having not yet unlocked the door. Even more strange. You knocked on the door, only for him to leave the room with another door in a hurry, ignoring your pleas. With a grumble, you dug for your keys, figuring his weird behavior was just fatigue, and that he probably slept over at work again.  When you finally get into the lab, you place your things down, and that's when you see it lingering underneath his desk in a rushed hiding spot. 

Encased within a thickly walled wooden box, an arrow remained, barely hidden from your gaze, as Jotaro had had no time to hide it from you. The latch was undone, another sign that Jotaro had run away from the scene.

Jerk. Didn’t he trust you enough to show you something like this? It’s just a bow and arrow! Why was he hiding it? You called out for him to return to the room and explain what the bow and arrow was for. Hearing no response, you turned back to the wooden box, reaching your hand in to inspect the bow and arrow. 

It all happened so fast. In the blink of an eye. 

There were no in-between movements. One moment you had pricked your finger on the razor sharp tip of the arrow, the next moment you were standing up, the box had been tightly locked, and Jotaro stood right in front of you, chest to chest, intensely staring you down. Your breath became ragged as you maintained eye contact with him. What just happened? You didn’t even hear him come in. The box was right before your very eyes, and you didn’t even see that it was locked. How did he even turn you around without you knowing?! A chill went down your spine as you hesitated to speak even a word to the man before you. 

“Do you see what was in there?”

 Jotaro asked you calmly. You felt a cold sweat form on your forehead. Jotaro, ever the impatient man, grabbed your jacket collar, shaking you out of your scared daze. 

“I’m asking you now (y/n)! Did you see what was in there?!” 

“No, I didn’t see anything! I don’t know what just happened! I swear! I saw you run away from the room and went to see what was in there and the next thing I knew you had come back and it was all so fast and I don’t understand and I-... Jotaro… you’re scaring me.” 

Your body convulsed at his rough contact, your hands reaching up to push him away, but his tight grip on your jacket remained steadfast. Pure instinct had compelled you to lie to him about seeing the content of the box, but the terror and confusion you had displayed was genuine. You still didn’t understand how he was able to move that fast, or affect you with you even knowing. Just who was this man?

Jotaro stared down at you for a moment longer, before releasing you from his grip and taking a few steps back. You stumbled back, grabbing the edge of his desk to stabilize your fall. Your heart continued to race in your chest as you heaved, still struggling to make sense of what just happened. 

Jotaro silently called out Star Platinum, having his stand hover right in front of you as you kept staring at him in confusion. Your expression didn’t change once he called out his stand. So you were telling the truth. You really hadn’t seen the arrow. Or at least, hadn’t touched it.

Jotaro sighed, rubbing the side of his head with a groan. He hadn’t stopped time in so long, but it seemed he was worried over nothing. “I’m sorry to frighten you, (y/n).” 

You finally straightened yourself out, gulping. “Who the hell are you? Really?!” 

“...I’m Jotaro Kujo. That is all.” 

Another chill ran down up your spine, but you played it off. If he wanted to continue things as per usual, you’d have to do the same. 

“Right… I brought breakfast. And there’s a morning meeting in half an hour so freshen up.” 

You walked past him to retrieve the food you had bought for them. Looking down to pick it up, you noticed a red blood stain on your jacket. It must have been from your bleeding finger when you’d pricked it on the arrow. However, when you turned to look at the finger itself, you found that it was fully healed, not even scarred, even after such a precise and direct cut. Jotaro politely asked you for the food, claiming hunger, and you rushed to take your coat off and hide it away. You got the sense that he’d question further if he saw the fresh blood stain. 

After that fateful morning, things continued on as per usual. You still had your questions, but after a few weeks had passed without another incident, you resolved that whatever that bow and arrow were must have been top secret for the Speedwagon Foundation. You figured no company could be as powerful as they were without keeping a few secrets. And this was one of them. 

So you resolved to ask no questions about that one day. The same way you didn’t put up much of a fight when, in the summer of 1999, after months of you two planning to stay there together, Jotaro told you that he would be going to Morioh alone to research for his PhD, without you. You were furious, enraged how the two of you could become so close since you began working there, yet he still didn’t trust you to go with him. You argued with him the night before he was set to leave, but his resolve never crumbled. You weren’t going to Morioh, that was final. 

In the three months that he was gone, Jotaro regularly sent you his findings, and you sorted them back at Speedwagon Headquarters. When he finally came back, more visibly shaken than he was before, you could only wonder what the coworker you had grown so attached to had experienced in Morioh in the summer of 1999. 

Circling back to the present day, it was the winter of 2000, and there was yet again a dark force afoot in the town of Morioh. Only this time, Jotaro would not go alone. 

“You have to let me come with you this time.” 

“Explain why. Explain why I have to let you come with me this time. I did just fine on my own before.” 

You gritted your teeth at the other’s stubbornness. “Will you please just listen to me? Jotaro when you came back from Morioh, you were even harder to deal with than before! Any sound in the office set you on edge and you screamed when someone set off fireworks near our building! And you still haven’t explained to me what happened there! Now let me come with you! I can help!”

Jotaro turned his attention away from his work, finally looking at you for the first time in that conversation. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become, how much you meant to him. You were his ticket into communicating with the world to his fullest, and after recalling several confusing conversations with Josuke, Okuyasu, and Koichi, Jotaro realized he actually needed you in order to articulate himself to the others without getting too anxious or angry. 

“Alright fine. We’re leaving tomorrow at 2. You better be ready.” 

But nothing could have prepared you for the horrors you were about to encounter in that small town. To your shock and disgust, you learned that aside from his research, Jotaro was investigating a murderer. And then you met Josuke and the others. That was when you first felt that you were going crazy. When you saw glimpses of third arms extend out from these teenagers, saw one of them heal a broken leg with ease, saw another erase space itself. People all over this small town were vanishing in thin air, and the incidents were happening more and more frequently. It didn’t make any sense, but no one was commenting on it, so you felt you were just imagining things. The same way you must have imagined Jotaro moving at lightspeed that morning you pricked your finger on the arrow. 

Finally, we return to the current scene of Jotaro hunched over his desk, his room in the Morioh Grand Hotel littered with documents, the board nearby covered in photos and string, the bedside clock reading 2:33 am.  You approached him carefully in the tense silence, knowing not to startle him whenever he was in deep thought. 

“...Jotaro-”

“Dammit dammit dammit! I’m sick of it! Where the hell is he?!” 

Jotaro slammed his fist down on the desk, his chest heaving in frustration. Why did this keep happening to him?! He just wanted to live a normal life, and he thought after Kira, he could. But like so many times before, Jotaro Kujo was wrong. Perhaps it was his destiny to be unfortunate. Perhaps there would always be another person stabbed by the arrow that would have it out for him and the others. Perhaps he was always destined to have a target on his back. Jotaro turned around to see you there, your form shaken from his sudden outburst. You’d never seen him that angry before. He met your gaze, unaware that you were sensing a vague presence of a being just above the man’s shoulder. 

He sighed, walking over to you. “I’m sorry to scare you (y/n). I’m just getting frustrated by all this.”

You hesitated to speak for a moment, flinching when Jotaro placed his hand on your shoulder. You look up at him with a glare.  “Tell what you haven’t been telling me.” 

“You’ve been with me in Morioh this whole time (y/n). We both know the same things about this case I-”

You shoved Jotaro back, the surprised scientist bumping into his desk. “Don’t play dumb with me Jotaro! There’s something you’re not telling me! Do you think I’m an idiot?! Do you think I can’t handle it?! Tell me why you and a bunch of fucking kids have to be the ones taking down a killer?! Why can’t you just leave it to the police like a normal person?! Just say it! I…  I can help you!” 

But Jotaro couldn’t tell you. You wouldn’t understand his world and the horrifying stands contained within it. He had to keep you safe. The moment you find out anything more will be the moment you die. 

“No… I can’t tell you (y/n).” 

“But that’s not fair I-”

“(y/n), I’m sorry, but if you ask me again, I’ll be forced to send you back home and have you fired from my lab. Try to understand me, I’m doing this for your own safety, but I can’t have you be near me if you don’t cooperate.” 

You stood there in shock. Would he really do that? Didn’t he know how much working for him at the Foundation meant to you? How much care that you put in for him and his work? And he’d throw all that away just to protect some stupid secret!? Who did he think he was?!

Your whole body began to quiver in rage at the other’s behavior. Just when you thought there was something between the two of you, something more than just a young professor and his assistant, he makes it clear that you mean nothing to him, and you never have. You watched the man before you, turn away from your gaze to focus back to his work. With a huff, you reach for the door to leave, your hand touching the handle. 

Then, it all went white. 

Your hand touched the handle, feeling the metal scalding to the touch. Before you could flinch back and yelp at the pain, a hand circled around your neck and another crept around your waist, the grip keeping you flush against another body. You look around the room, watching the color and furniture dissolve from your view until all you could see for miles was a white void. The only thing you could feel was the man with a locked grip on your neck, blocking your airway. You kicked to set yourself free, until you felt a ghostly presence cling onto your legs to hold them together. That same feeling washed over your wrists to bind them as well. The man holding onto you within the void leaned down to bring his mouth to your ear.

“No human on Earth is unable to feel pain.”

Your whole body shuddered at the deep growl in his throat. “W-who are you?! What do you wan-”

“I’m the one talking (y/n)!”

With that, his hold on your neck tightened ever more. How could he have known your name? You all had made a point to only use names in private in case the murderer was lurking around. So that means… A pang of realization hit you. He’d been hiding in this hotel room, listening to you and Jotaro was however long. Black spots appeared before you in your line of sight, your head was feeling lighter and lighter. You were becoming weightless. 

“In the split second that a human being first feels pain, that is when they are at their most isolated. At the first sign of pain, it’s every man for himself. When a man is shot, in the first moment he feels pain, he isn’t thinking of the man next to him that got shot in the brain. He’s thinking only of himself. The fight or flight response is activated, all other surroundings become useless. That selfishness, that hunger to be healed, that desire for self preservation, is what fuels Foreigner’s God, my stand!” 

Your eyes shot open at the last word. “A...stand?” You choked out.

“My stand, Foreigner's God, extends that initial moment of selfishness that comes with pain. No longer are there distractions that can bring someone back to care for others. No longer are there healers that can take that pain away. Your hand is still burnt from the handle that I heated up, so…”

He turned you both around and you saw through your hazy view, a body appear in the white void. It was Jotaro, the man frantically calling out your name and rushing between his room and yours in a search for you. At one moment, the two of you even seemingly made eye contact, and you saw the absolute fear in his eyes at the realization that he might have just lost you. Your mouth quirked up in a smile, and tears began to form in your eyes. 

Jotaro took a step closer, maintaining your gaze, and you felt relief in your heart that he could really see you. Until suddenly, he rushed to the night stand, fazing right through you and your assailant, not even noticing your presence in the room. You struggled to shout under the choking pressure as you saw him panic, reaching to the phone to call Josuke.

“Wait! Jotaro! I’m right here ah-”

“Didn’t I tell you (y/n)! At that critical moment of pain, it’s every man for himself! It’s just you and me in here! You’re in my world now, sweetheart. I allowed you to see Jotaro’s image, but he cannot see or hear you!” 

The killer turned your head to the side, ready to snap. But he had to wait, for his stand would deactivate the moment you were killed, and then he’d be left vulnerable to a furious Jotaro in that hotel room. He needed information about his opponents’ abilities, and Jotaro was playing right into his hands by calling his friend. 

“That’s it… That’s it Kujo! Call Josuke Higashikata! Call him! CALL HIM!”

You trembled under the rough grip, struggling to call out for Jotaro, hoping he wouldn’t call anyone and reveal any secrets. 

And then amidst the silence, the click of Jotaro hanging up the phone filled your ears. You watched the look of reflection on his face. Somehow, maybe it was because of years of battle with monsters just like this man, but Jotaro Kujo realized that you hadn’t run away. Someone was keeping you from him. And he was now more alert than ever. 

“Shit! He’s smarter than I thought! He must suspect there’s a stand attack going on.” 

The murderer grumbled before dropping you to the ground. He couldn’t kill you, not without proper info on how to defeat Jotaro and the others. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt you. With a sharp kick to the back, the assailant managed to knock you away, breaking bones in your spine and leaving you immobile. Recalling his stand ability, the murderer managed to escape out a window without a trace, figuring you would lose consciousness. With a gentle thud, you toppled to the ground, right next to the open window. 

“(y/n)!” 

Jotaro rushed to the sound, seeing you lay there, gasping for breath. He turned to the open window seeing no one around. He had disappeared. And right under his nose too. How long had the man been in the room with them?! How dumb could he have been?! Reaching up to Jotaro, you muttered that the man had broken a few bones in your back and that you couldn’t move. 

“I’m sorry Jotaro. I didn’t get a good look at his face…” 

“Don’t worry about that! I’ll get help right away!” 

You looked up with hazy eyes as Jotaro rushed to the phone to call Josuke. After everything between the two of you, after everything he’s said to you, it was surprising to see just how much he truly cared about you. Holding the phone to his ear, Jotaro frantically told Josuke your condition and for him to get over here as soon as possible. Glancing down at your arm, Jotaro’s eyes shot open at the black ink that painted your skin just a few centimeters beneath your wrist. In all caps, as if the murderer was playing with you all, the ink wrote, 

“Foreigner’s God - AS.”  

- - - - - 

“Honestly Mr. Joestar, where does that grandson of yours get off running me and the others ragged like this? He sees one person with the initials A.S. in a phonebook and he sends me out across down to read them with Heaven’s Door.” 

Rohan Kishibe sat drinking his tea, absently working on Pink Dark Boy, waiting for Jotaro’s next move. His companion, Joseph Joestar, took a sip of his drink at Rohan’s rude accusation. 

“Hush now Rohan. We all put Jotaro in charge of his operation, given his connection to our main victim. All he’s doing is using your stand to its full capabilities.” 

The old man raised an eyebrow and Rohan got the hint. Mr. Joestar was the only one of the group that the snarky artist fully respected, so he would follow the seasoned stand user’s lead. 

A heavy set of footsteps entered the room, followed by a more uneven pair lingering behind. The two stand users looked up to see you and Jotaro enter. You were looking better since the attack. Josuke had healed your back of the broken bones, but the bruises and intense pain of walking remained. Moving with crutches, you slowly stepped out from behind Jotaro as the two of you entered the room. Jotaro, his face darkened in a mixture of unhealthy fatigue and intense bloodlust, approached Rohan’s table and slammed down a stack of papers. 

“Names, addresses, ages, and criminal histories. All here. I want you done with it within the next two days.” 

Rohan grumbled, standing up. “You’ve got a lot of nerve talking to me like that Jotaro. Not even a hello, not even an acknowledgment of your grandfather. He’s the only reason I’m letting you push me around like this you-” 

Jotaro took one step closer to Rohan, staring the smaller man down in silence. A chill went down the artist’s spine. Shown plainly in the scientist’s eyes was a haze of dark intent, of evil desires. He wanted this person dead, and for them to suffer. Joseph flicked his gaze up at his grandson, recognizing the expression from the other’s climactic fight with DIO. A tinge of worry filled the old soul. 

They needed to catch him, and catch him soon. 

“Jotaro, come on. We told Josuke and the others we would give them an update soon.” 

At the sound of your voice, raspy still from the attack, Jotaro’s face softened into its usual composure. He turned around to face you, and you gave him a tired smile. 

“Right, let’s go. Rohan. Two days, please. I’m counting on you.” 

Tipping his hat over his eyes, Jotaro held out an arm for you as you both walked to the rendez-vous point to meet with Josuke. 

Rohan still felt lost in the other’s murderous expression. It had been three days since your run in with Foreigner’s God, and Heaven’s Door’s user was one of the first to arrive at the scene in order to search for clues. He remembered reading a page drawn from your unconscious body; you had blacked out soon after Jotaro made the call for help. Josuke was working on your spine, and there was a tense silence about the room. A silence soon interrupted by the crash of wood hitting the floor. Everyone looked up, seeing Jotaro standing deathly still in his spot, meanwhile Star Platinum had escaped and had thrown the table over and smashed it into the floor. The rampaging stand turned to the board and knocked it over with a fierce punch, wood scraps and documents flying everywhere. 

“Hey Jotaro stop it! We need those!” 

Josuke yelled, drawing out Crazy diamond to hold Star back. In his blinded rage, the stand took a mindless swing, punching Crazy Diamond in the jaw and sending both him and Josuke flying into the opposite wall. 

“Josuke!” 

Koichi and Okuyasu rushed to their friend. He wasn’t injured too badly, surprisingly no bones broken; nothing a bandage or two couldn’t fix. The four of them, the three teenagers and the artist all turned to Jotaro in shock, who by this point had absorbed Star Platinum into his being. Turning back to face them all, they all got a look at it. 

The truly furious face of Jotaro Kujo. 

The calm and collected scientist now wore the face of violence, a face he hadn’t worn since Egypt. His eyes shone bright with a horrifying lust for vengeance. Those eyes looked away from the frightened stand users, towards your unconscious body. Without a word, Jotaro left the room, and the others let out a shaky breath in the tense air. Those eyes. It had been three days and those eyes were still ever present. Rohan shook away his discomfort and waved goodbye to Mr. Joestar, understanding now. 

Jotaro was not in this for justice. If Kira had hurt only you those months ago, Jotaro would have worn the same face. You were the key to Jotaro’s psyche and wellbeing. That was a fundamental truth about Jotaro Kujo. It was that day that Rohan Kishibe learned another fundamental truth. 

Sometimes, the universe places an answer in your hands when you need an answer the most. 

Half an hour later, it happened. It was in the middle of a secluded street, inhabited by only three people at that moment. A man. A woman. And the young artist, who had been so enraptured by his goal of locating the first name of his list that he barely had the time to react when it happened. And when it did, it only took an instant. 

The man in front of him quickly drew out a pocket knife from his jacket, driving its blade into the woman’s shoulder, unaware Rohan was behind him seeing the act in its entirety. Before the woman had any time to scream in pain, the pair vanished into thin air before the artist’s very eyes, and into the man’s stand realm. Rohan held his breath, frightened at the pair’s sudden disappearance. A stand user. It must have been. Was this him? Reaching quickly into his bag, Rohan Kishibe phoned his first line of defense.

You had been sitting with Jotaro and all of the Morioh teenagers when Jotaro received his call from Rohan.  

“What is it?” 

“I found someone. It’s either him or another one Jotaro.” 

Jotaro shot up from his chair, eyes blown out in stress. “Are you sure?! How do you know?!” 

Josuke, Okuyasu, and Koichi all grew the same expression of fighting spirit on their faces and you were sure danger was ahead for you all. 

Rohan tried to remain calm. “I’m not sure… Come over here with the others. We have a better chance of taking down whoever this is together. I’m by Owsen, two streets over…” 

Inside Foreigner’s God’s realm, the man  grabbed on tighter to the struggling woman’s neck as she gasped for air. 

“Please, please don’t kill me! Please don’t k-kill me!” 

But the man was hardly paying attention to her cries. He had brought a vision of Rohan into the void and was watching the artist’s movement’s while still strangling the woman as she writhed in pain. 

He didn’t like what he was hearing. With a grunt, the man turned the woman around to face Rohan’s vision, his hand still tight around her neck. 

She whimpered at the sudden motion, tears streaming down her face, meanwhile he stared boredly at Rohan talking on the phone with Jotaro and the others. 

“Hey bitch, who is that?” 

The woman just kept crying.  “Please don’t kill me!” 

Gritting his teeth, the man smacked her upside the head and tightened his grip around her neck. “Tell me who that is!” 

Her vision hazy, the woman took a good look at the eccentrically dressed man. “I-I think th-that’s Rohan Kishibe. A famous manga artist…”  She sputtered out. 

The man’s eyes widened. Rohan Kishibe. He was at the scene of Kira’s death. Could he be another of them? 

A fit of laughter took over him and he cackled, his jubilation mixing uncomfortably with the woman’s struggle for her life. Continuing to holler, the man dropped the woman to the ground and she remained there, coughing to catch her breath. 

“Oh that’s great! I’ve heard he’s good too! You ever read any of his stuff?!” 

She looked up at him confused, watching his face twist in excitement as he realized that he, a lowly stand user, was about to kill a man that helped take down the mighty Yoshikage Kira. Staring down at the ground, she shuddered at the sound of the maniac’s voice.

“Hey.”

A chill went down the woman’s spine. Suddenly, the man wasn’t laughing anymore. She turned her head to find a way to escape, seeing nothing but white everywhere. Why couldn’t anyone see what he was doing to her?! The man on the street with them, Rohan, why wasn’t he stepping in? It’s like they weren’t the real world at that moment. 

“...I asked you a question.” 

Tears filled her eyes again as she met his bored gaze. “W-what?” 

Drawing closer to her weak form, and kneeling down on the ground, the man before her grabbed a fistful of her hair and she screamed at the sudden jerking pain.

“I’m asking if you’ve ever read any of his stuff!” 

The woman felt a crushing pain in her chest, as if a mysterious force was stepping on her. 

“N-no! I haven’t! But please don’t k-”

“Hmph.” 

In a split second, the stand’s hands came around the woman’s neck and snapped it, and Foreigner’s God’s ability ceased. The man quickly his himself out of sight, seeing Rohan standing alone in the street. 

Rohan turned around at the thud of a body hitting the ground behind him. He looked over to see the dead woman, her eyes blown out and a thick ring of bruises around her neck. Just like what you had gone through. And there it was, the same tag that had been on your body after your attack.

 “Foreigner’s God. - AS. ” 

Bringing his phone shakily to his ear, Rohan muttered, “It’s him Jotaro. He’s just killed someone else. Get over here now!” 

Jotaro felt the same dark intent sweep over him as he heard Rohan speak those words. “Do you see him?” 

“No. He hid himself somehow. He’s nearby I bet. Waiting to get me… Come soon. I’m hanging up.” With that, the artist turned his phone off, staying on guard for any attackers. 

Jotaro hung up the phone call with Rohan and turned to the others to come with him. You stood up as well to head to the scene when you felt Jotaro’s hand roughly shove you down into your seat. 

“No.” He ordered plainly. 

“No?! You expect me to be useless again?! I’m the one he attacked first! I wanna see him go down and I wanna help do it!”

“I’m not having you go over there! You can’t get hurt again!” 

You stared up at him, shocked at the concern plastered all over his face. But still, you were stubborn. That’s one of the things he loved about you. 

“What about you?! What makes you sure you won’t get hurt?! Or even die Jotaro?!” 

“I’d rather that than you die (y/n)! The world needs you more than it will ever need me! And I can’t watch someone I love get hurt right in front of me again!” 

You stood there frozen, your legs feeling like they were about to give out at those word.

“...What?” 

Jotaro felt a hand grip his shoulder, turning to see Josuke motion for him to get going. They needed to catch this guy. And fast. Giving a quick glance to your shaken form, he knew you understood why you needed to stay behind. 

You did, of course, know him and his words better than anyone else on Earth. 

Jotaro began running with the others towards the scene and when he was a few feet away, you heard Koichi ask your beloved lab partner if he had any idea what kind of stand they were dealing with. 

Your mind flooded back to the words that man had spoken to you. A stand. That was the word he kept using. A stand. AS. Those were the initials of the man that nearly strangled you to death. Foreigner’s God. He said that was the name of his stand. A stand. Stand.

Your mind kept repeating that same word over and over again in your head as you stood there in the crowded Morioh street. All of these people. The people you had come to love. Josuke and the others. The strange lives they lived. Jotaro. The strange life he had drawn you into. They were all working to save the thousands of people that lived in this small Japanese town. 

You thought back on all they had said, all that you had overheard over the course of the investigation. Things you didn’t understand now flooded your mind. They spoke about the first trip, the killer. Killer. A man named Kira. Killer Queen. Killer Queen must have been his stand. A stand. Is that why you think you’ve been going crazy? Are those third arms stands? ...Did Jotaro have one? 

“Gimme… gimme… gimme… GIMME!”

Your whole form awoke from your deep train of thought at the sound of someone calling out to you.  You turned around, looking at all the people that were walking nearby. No one was even looking at you. You sighed. You supposed this town really was driving you crazy. You reached for your crutches and took one step forward- 

“GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME!!!”

The loud voice rang violently in your head and you fell to your knees from the shock. Covering your ears, you foolishly tried to block out the sound. Your whole body began to feel weak, your whole being heating up. It felt like your blood was boiling, your muscles were tensing, an unwanted rage consuming every cell in your form. 

“What’s going on?! What’s happening to m-”

“GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME!”

“Who are you?! What’s going on?!” You thought to yourself, panicking. What was this voice?!

“GIMME GIMME GIMME!”

“Go away…” You muttered under your breath as you knelt on the pavement.

“GIMME GIMME GIMME!”

“Go away…” Your voice subconsciously raised, drawing others’ attention. 

“GIMME GIMME GIMME!”

“GO AWAY!”  You let a shrill yell, grabbing violently at your hair in terror, causing a crowd of people to form around you. 

And then the voice stopped, a quiet renewing in your head. You sat there, gasping for air, your throat still burning from the attack days before, and your screaming had not helped it. You looked up at everyone staring up at you in shocked worry. In a calm daze, you stood up, grabbing your crutches and began to walk away from the others. 

Jotaro. Jotaro would know what it means. What that voice was. 

- - - - - 

Arata Sone had been Yoshikage Kira’s only friend as long as the killer had been alive. He was the only person in the world that Kira confided in. He remembered the night he met the blond murderer. One evening, the normal man came home from a very late night at work to a silent home, his wife sleeping upstairs. With a heavy sigh, Sone was about to enter his bedroom when he heard his wife let out a sudden shriek, before the sound immediately ceased into a renewed silence. Panicked, the man swung the door open to find another man about his age, standing in the middle of the room, a dismembered hand in his grasp. The hand was dripping blood onto the carpet, and Sone’s wife was nowhere to be found. Putting two and two together, the man felt a chill slither up his whole body. He remained stuck in his spot as he watched the blond man draw closer to him. Then something strange happened. Arata Sone knew that he should be afraid, knew that he should be begging for his life, knew that the proper thing to do was flee. But what he did shocked both himself and the murderer before him. 

Arata Sone laughed harder than he ever had before. 

Cackling loudly to an unsettling degree, he even managed to throw the calm and collected Yoshikage Kira off guard. After several minutes, the laughter died down and the man looked at the other before him with a wide smile on his face.

“Thank you.” 

For the first time in a long time, Kira felt a shudder rush through his body. 

“Thank you?” 

“I was waiting for a good moment to kill her myself.” 

In that moment, both men felt one of the great pleasures of life, a pleasure that can only come from being shunned for one’s desires for so long, and then to finally have that desire recognized by another being. The two men called out their stands and both fell into fits of laughter and joy at their shared murderous trait. A new friendship had been born.

A few years later, Arata Sone saw on the news the gruesome image of his beloved friend’s face crushed beneath an ambulance. Seeing what he could only guess were other stand users at the scene, his ever present lust for murder grew within him to a boiling point. Foreigner’s God’s user made a promise to himself. To kill those who had killed his friend. 

And today was the day to make that happen. The killer watched from his hiding spot as Jotaro and the others ran to the scene to see a very shaken Rohan Kishibe, who was wondering why the killer had yet to show himself. What none of them knew, was that their attacker had grown as a stand user. He was about to apply what his dear friend Kira had once taught him, and was merely hiding to get them all in one place. 

Sone waited for the group to get within his stand’s range.

You slowly made your way on your crutches towards the scene. You needed to know these answers. 

“Just a little farther…” He thought as he waited for Jotaro and the others to be within his grasp. 

“Just a little farther…” You muttered to yourself as you turned the corner, two streets away from Owsen. An ominous feeling crept over you, making you feel sick to your stomach. 

Finally, they were all together within his stand’s range. Arata Sone waited for the right moment, a sick smile on his face.

Jotaro went to speak. “Any sign of h-”

And then the attack was sent into motion. In that split second, each of Morioh’s fighters looked down to see a small mass of white matter form around their ankle. With the snap of his fingers, the matter exploded, taking a chunk off each person’s leg with it. Jotaro, Josuke, Koichi, Okuyasu and Rohan all collapsed to the ground as the street became consumed in a white void the moment they all felt that same sting of pain.

“No human on Earth is unable to feel pain.”

They all looked up from writhing in pain as the man they had been hunting down showed himself, the twisted smile on his face more present than before. 

“When a man feels he is at his most cornered, that is often when the most opportunities arise for him. My st-”

In a flash, Jotaro lunged forward, landing a punch to Sone’s face. The smile went away.

“I suppose I’ll take your hand next.” He grunted, grabbing Jotaro’s arm and slamming his whole body to the ground. The moment his hand made contact with the ground, another white mass formed around Jotaro’s finger and exploded, and Star Platinum’s user once again hollered in pain.

“Jotaro!” 

The other Morioh fighters called out to their injured friend and all of them got up to attack their enemy together. The moment they took another step, white matter formed once more around their feet and exploded again. The five of them were squirming on the ground in pain once again. 

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, Jotaro Kujo. My stand feeds on that first moment of selfish pain and extends it, trapping others in a blank void without distraction from their pain. It’s a terrifying ability when used properly, though I will admit, back when I attacked your little friend, I wouldn’t have been able to take you all on at once, and that’s the only reason I spared her life…” 

He looked down to see Jotaro’s face overcome with rage at your mention. It was a fruitless effort, but Jotaro lunged at his enemy again, only to be knocked on his back. The moment his body touched the ground, several bubbles of the same white substance engulfed the scientist’s back and exploded, leaving bleeding indents all over the tall man’s frame and causing him to gasp at the pain. 

“But you see. I have grown as a stand user. You may remember from the tag on your beloved friend’s arm the words Foreigner’s God. Well that my friends, is the name of my stand. Or no… this is something different. A new ability that I’ve learned. A swan song to my dear friend, Yoshikage Kira!” 

Their eyes shot open at the mention of that hardly forgotten name. “Kira?” Josuke muttered. 

“Oh right… an old friend of mine. I figured when I would be taking revenge for his death, I would use some of that explosive power of his that I loved so much. You see everyone, normally I would only be able to keep one person at a time in my realm. You can only hurt some many in one instance after all!” 

It was in that moment, Foreigner’s God revealed itself in its humanoid form right beside its user. Lunging forward, the stand attacked the stationary fighters, knocking them all to the ground. At the very second their bodies touched the ground, the same miniature explosions went off, extending their pain and keeping them in the dangerous realm. 

“Gimme gimme gimme…” 

You placed a hand against your ear trying to block out that annoying voice that was seemingly coming out of nowhere. You weren’t far from the scene, your mind still running wild, asking a thousand questions as to what a stand even was, what that voice just then was, who were the others really dealing with, what was this man capable of. You weren’t sure of what you would be able to do, but something within you drew your body closer and closer to the street where your friends were currently writhing in agony. You didn’t care about what Jotaro wasn’t telling you. You didn’t care that there were still questions that needed answered. You just wanted to help, anyway you could figure out how.

Staring down at their battered and bleeding bodies, Arata Sone let out another burst of jubilation amidst the void. 

“I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this before! If you haven’t already noticed, my once empty void has now been combined with its own type of landmines. You cannot move without a new one setting off, and extending that pain further. You’re going to be stuck in here until you bleed out, with no one to hear you or see you! That is it the secret to my new ability, Arsonist’s Lullaby!” 

With that cry, the stand stormed through the five of them once more, knocking them to the ground once more, causing new land mines to set off, all to the tune of its user’s laugh-filled joy. It was then that white walls of the void were beginning to fade, and the scenery of that Morioh street was starting to fade back into view. 

“Hmm… it appears this ability takes up more of my energy than I thought. I suppose I can’t kill all five of you at once and remain invisible at the same time. No matter, I can’t sense any other stand users around, just the six of us. I don’t care who sees this! I’ll just kill the witnesses after I kill you!” 

It was then that Arata Sone made a fatal mistake, and just like his friend Yoshikage Kira, let his hubris take over. Removing the hiding nature of his stand, but doubling the landmines, the man watched as the five powerful stand users struggled to even get close enough to him to land in a hit. New landmines keep going off, new injuries created. 

They were dangerously close to bleeding out, all in plain sight of another stand user. You. 

You turned the corner to see the carnage ahead of you, finding your whole group in the enemy’s grasp. You couldn’t even tell what you were seeing. The moment one of your friends moved, they would immediately flinch back in agony. Drawing your attention to the man standing over them, a familiar chill went through you. That was the same man that had attacked you days before. And seeing what he was capable of doing to the people you had grown so close to, you were now more scared than ever of him. 

But you noticed something. Amidst the pleasure that this monster was reveling in, there was a distinct look of concentration plastered all over his face. You watched his expression twitch with each time an attack went off on one of your friends. He must be doing something with his mind to attack them. He was focusing. His focus. You needed to capture his focus. 

Steeling yourself for what was to come, you dropped your crutches and took a deep breath in, something in you knowing the dangers you were about to face, and the rest of you stupidly seeming not to care. 

With a small ounce of bravery, you shouted at the top of your lungs. “Stop it! I won’t let you hurt them!” 

Sone turned around at the sudden distraction, surprised that someone was taking notice. His eyebrow raised in intrigue. That could only mean one thing. You were another one. 

Jotaro recognized that voice. No… no no no. Looking up, he saw your frightened body shaking and staring straight into the enemy’s eyes without a way to defend yourself.

“No! (y/n) get out of here! You can’t be here! He’ll kill-” 

The killer turned back around and punched Jotaro straight in the gut with his stand, sending him flying back into a tree. 

“Jotaro!” 

You shrieked. All five of them were dying right in front of you, so close to bleeding out. And now his focus was on you, and it had taken all your courage to simply call out and distract him from the others. You watched as the man drew closer, ready to kill another. The same giant smile came over his face again. 

“(y/n) huh? And here I thought you were a smart person. Smart enough not to beg for me to hurt you again. But sorry, there’s no escape this time!” 

“(y/n) no! Run away! Get out of here!” 

You didn’t have time to register whose voice had called out to you before you saw the attacker lunge right at you. You put your arms up over your face as your body collapsed to its knees, your eyes shut in fear, and a horrified scream uncontrollably left your lungs. 

“Now die!” 

And then, you felt weightless.

“GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME” 

As you felt a massive weight being lifted from your body, your eyes shot open to find someone new standing over you. Actually, you weren’t sure if it was someone new, or something new. This new thing, it didn’t seem real.

“GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME” 

Your face lit up in shock. Attached to this new thing was the same voice that you had been hearing in your head before. You watched as its fists fired off in a flurry of punches, all hitting their marks on the man’s body. You were mesmerized by its appearance. Its body, about the same size as yours, looked as if it were made of glass. Swirling around within that glass was a pool of different colors. Different blues, purples, oranges and pinks flowed together seamlessly, all encased within the glass structure as it pummeled the enemy before you. 

“GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME… A MAN!” 

With one last, hard punch to the enemy’s chest, the glass figure stopped its attack and turned around to face you. You shuffled back on the ground, your chest heaving in fear from what had just happened. The figure before you, without speaking a word, drew its arm forward to point at Sone, who was now frozen in his spot before you. Then, everyone watched as small ripples began to form over the man’s whole body. All over his arms, legs, and chest, it looks as if the flesh was moving, as if someone had dropped a pebble into a lake. Then the ripples began to glow brightly, the full spectrum of colors radiating out, and tearing their way from the inside of his body outward. The enemy let out a painful shriek as the searing pain overtook him, more and more light spilling out of his body as the flesh around it became torn and melted. Finally, less than a second later, an explosion of white light burst out of the man’s body. And once that flash was gone, so was he. Foreigner’s God had been defeated. And this thing that you could tell was a part of you, it had been the thing to kill him. 

Shakily, you stood up, holding on tightly to your crutches, keeping your gaze on this figure that had erupted out of you. 

“...ABBA?” 

Still confused, all you knew was that something in your body told you to say that name. The figure turned around to face you and gave you a shy smile before coming closer and embracing your shaking form in a hug. Surprised you could even touch it, you wrapped your arms around ABBA as well, finding to your disbelief that the glass like material felt soft and warm to the touch. You looked down its back, eyeing the pattern of jagged lines all over its body, as well as the swirling colors within. You felt your eyes well up with tears. Something about holding onto this being, one not entirely separate from you, felt so right. It felt like it had been welling up inside you for so long, and you couldn’t help but love it now that it was out. 

“A stand…” You muttered. It was all so clear now. Your stand.

After a few moments, ABBA stood up and nodded towards the group of your injured friends. Holding you up, both you and your stand rushed over to Josuke. The teenager’s eyes opened with a pained groan, looking up at you and seeing ABBA at your side. His face lit up in surprise and he tried to sit up before the crushing pain forced him back down onto the ground. He muttered weakly for you to see if Rohan was alright, and you did. 

Suddenly, a small white figure burst out of the artist’s body and punched Josuke in the arm. You watched, intrigued as a section of the teen’s arm unfolded like a book. The white figure leaned in, writing in Josuke’s arm the words, “I currently do not have any injuries.” 

You watched in awe as the bleeding wounds all over Josuke’s body slowly began to close. Within a few minutes, Josuke was up and mobile as ever. He had several questions to ask you, but first, he had some healing to do. You watched as a pink and blue being, you assumed Josuke’s stand, flew out of his body and hovered over all of the other injured, healing them nearly immediately. They all stood up, groaning from the shadows of pain still left behind from the attacks. One by one, each of them looked up at you, each of their faces growing an expression of surprise and adoration. You felt small under their gazes, looking up at your stand standing next to you. As small as you felt, there was something about ABBA that made you feel powerful. Especially considering what it had just done to defeat the enemy. 

“(y/n)... is that your stand…?” 

You looked over at Koichi before quickly nodding. “Yeah… I guess it must be right?” 

You tried to shrug it off with a nervous laugh, but even you were still in awe of this new ability. Finally, you turned to Jotaro, watching his face for a reaction. The gentle giant stood frozen at a loss of words, unsure of what to say. His gaze turned to ABBA, a melancholy look of admiration and love spread over his features. 

“Come on Jotaro… say something. Don’t worry. I’ll understand-” 

You muttered softly before Jotaro rushed forward and cut you off with a tight hug. You rested your smaller body against him, tears of relief streaming down your face, grateful that everyone was still alive. You looked up to gaze into Jotaro’s blue eyes, seeing that he had begun to tear up as well. Then something caught your eye. Looking over the tall man’s shoulder, you saw a purple skinned spirit faze out of your partner’s body and float over to ABBA, starting deeply into your stand’s face. ABBA, who had before been so calm and collected, now shrunk back a little bit with a childish giggle at the sight of the handsome stand before her. As ABBA held her face in her hands, you felt your cheeks flush bright red. Your eyes widened and you pushed Jotaro away from you, turning to your stand. 

“H-hey wait a minute! ABBA, it’s not like that!”

“Gimme?” 

ABBA asked innocently as she grabbed Star Platinum’s hand tightly in her own. Jotaro now felt his face heat up and turn bright red. With a heavy sigh, he watched as his stand wrapped yours in its arms, chuckling a bit at your embarrassment. 

“Sorry about all this. His name’s Star Platinum, and he’s definitely more… emotional than I am.” 

Your eyes widened at what that could possibly mean. Wait… did they think that you and Jotaro were… 

“W-wait it’s not like that! He and I are just… “

“Gimme?” 

“No! W-well I mean I care about him but I-”

“(y/n).”

You turned around to face Jotaro as he calmly took his hat off, revealing the jet black hair that you loved seeing. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay (y/n).” 

Your heart swelled at his words and you slowly turned around to see ABBA and Star Platinum holding each other lovingly, a warmth erupting throughout your whole body at the sight. The feeling of Jotaro grabbing your hand caught your attention and met his gaze once more. 

“He’s the personification of my thoughts and well… it seems like your stand, ABBA right? It seems like she’s the personification of yours.” 

The two of you watched as your stands talk to one another in their own little language, each enamored by the other’s presence. You turned back to Jotaro, seeing that his face had drawn closer. 

“Yeah… I guess... you’re… right.” 

As you breathed out that last word, Jotaro closed the gap between the two of you, your lips connecting in a sweet, long awaited kiss. You wrapped your arms around the fellow scientist’s, and now fellow stand user’s, neck, giggling slightly as he lifted your body off the ground to hold you tightly in his arms. When you two broke for air, Jotaro quickly kissed you again, holding you up like his life depended on it. 

When he finally set you down, Jotaro Kujo placed a hand to the side of your face and wiped away your tears. With a small laugh, he turned over to your stand.

“Hey ABBA, what took you so long huh?” 

“...Gimme.” ABBA shrugged a little bit and pointed at you. 

You smiled, wiping your tears away. “She said she wouldn’t appear until I was either ready for it, or I really needed her.” 

Jotaro rolled his eyes at your stand. “Well you really waited for the exact moment that she needed you huh-Ow!” 

Jotaro grumbled a bit as Star punched him in the arm, annoyed that his user was making fun of this new pretty stand. ABBA grinned mischievously before looking around at the rest of the group, and seeing all of the other stands. 

A feeling of happiness swelled within the stand’s heart. Ever since you had pricked your finger on the arrow, for so long she had been growing, becoming more and more trapped within you. It had been lonely seeing you struggle without her help. It had been upsetting to see you not yet be ready for her to show herself. But now, eyeing all the others, Heaven’s Door, Echoes, the Hand, Crazy Diamond, and especially Star Platinum, ABBA really didn’t feel alone anymore. And seeing now how the other stand users of Morioh rushed over to hug you and vocalize their shock at you having a stand, ABBA could tell that you didn’t really feel alone anymore either. With a sigh of content, your stand fazed back into your body as you followed the rest of the group away from the scene and back to the hotel to get some much needed rest. 

You leaned against Jotaro’s frame as he wrapped as a strong arm around you. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat everyone! Tonio’s, my treat!” He said with a bright smile. 

Josuke and Okuyasu cheered, “and (y/n) can meet Tonio’s stand!” 

You turned back to the teens in shock as you all walked ahead. “Tonio has a stand?!” 

Koichi gave a firm nod. “Yeah. So does Hazamada.” 

“That weird kid?!” 

“My girlfriend Yukako too.” 

“Damn… I had no idea…” 

You all shared a laugh as you left to enjoy a well deserved victory, the sun setting over the beautiful town of Morioh, another dark force defeated by the town's newest savior.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

JOE KRAUS

I was a whiz at it. Will technology increase the gap between rich and poor evaporate.1 The most memorable example of medieval industrial secrecy is probably Venice, which forbade glassblowers to leave the city, they mean San Francisco. I'd never once done that thing in my life.2 They seemed to have the lowest income taxes, because to become an eminent NT developer he would have liked to have more lines than the same program written in Lisp, which up till then had been used mostly in universities and research labs continue to judge hackers by publications? Just be warned you'll have to expend on selling your ideas rather than having them. Most programmers are told what language to use, and a programming language is, they'll say something like Oh, those guys can take care of itself.3

Betting on people over ideas saved me countless times as an investor. That is in fact all jobs are some percentage school. The structure of large organizations sets an upper bound.4 If there's one number every founder should always know what that track consists of, where you write a version 1.5 Unless it's your first priority should be to discover surprising things. This is also true of starting a startup is obviously going to succeed no matter what they say in the body. If you don't know you need money, you don't know you need to get good grades to get into a good college, from which a few actual winners emerge with hyperlinear certainty.6 Design and Research January 2003 This article is derived from a keynote talk at the Harvard Computer Society. Anyone can see they're not the target market.

You'd have to be. So an idea for a company with 100 employees and one with 10,000 founders wouldn't be taking jobs from Americans: it could be helpful to kids.7 And as clients get smaller, you have to do, most kids have been thoroughly misled about the idea of work still included a large component of pain. The author is a self-indulgent. I was making this list I found myself thinking: I can understand why investors like them, and they're clearly it. It definitely has a flavor of its own. Many of these people never come face to face meetings. A company will be their big break. Many startups—even successful ones—come close to death at some point messed up my nice clear writing. Then you're saying that it's unjust that people want the wrong things?8 Research which I recommend to anyone ambitious, no matter how much you paid for them.

If DNA ruled, we should expect founders to do it. Some people would make good founders, but by doing labs and problem sets. Or consider watches.9 It's not a deal till the money's in the bank. It's just a more extreme version of designing a robust and elegant product.10 Would that do? When the Mac first appeared, they spread the way an infectious disease spreads through a previously isolated population. The surprise for me. 7% coming out of organs not designed for that purpose.

Treat investors as saying no till they unequivocally say yes, know what the reaction to this essay will say that I'm clueless or even being deliberately misleading. So I propose that ancient philosophers were similarly naive. Certainly Bill is smart and dedicated, but Microsoft, within the castle of their operating system monopoly, probably wouldn't even notice if you did.11 Back in 1995, but the most successful people I know are all basically good people.12 Notes This form of lie is not without its uses. You should therefore never approach such investors first.13 You only get 52 weekends with your 2 year old.14 For example, a lot of them. Unfortunately, not just co-workers.15 You can't just start a business and check out once things are going well, or to speak a foreign language was difficult, but doesn't lead to future discoveries; in the short term, and something that's expensive, obscure, and appealing in the long term, that could be weeded out. Probably because the product is what wins in the short term.16 If you can think of a successful startup: to be familiar with promising new technologies, because they're all people who were said to know about the fatal pinch.

Notes

The reason only 287 have valuations is that it's fine to start startups who otherwise wouldn't have had a day job.

Learning for Text Categorization. 4%, and thus no form nor anyone to call the market.

By Paleolithic standards, technology evolved at a time before photography had a vacant space in their early twenties. And since there are no false negatives. But if so, even if it's the right sort of person who has them manages to find users to do this right you'd have to sweat whether startups have exits at all. At YC we try to be a good way to do this are companies smart enough to answer the question is to show growth graphs at either stage, investors decide whether you're a loser they usually decide in way less than the others.

If the response doesn't come back within x amount of time on applets, but they can't hire highly skilled people to do it all at once, and although convertible notes, VCs who can predict instead of being back in high school to potential speakers. Miyazaki, Ichisada Conrad Schirokauer trans. Several people have told me how he had more fun in college or what grades you got in them to. In practice it's more like your brother?

It will require more than most people haven't noticed yet. What I dislike is editing done after the first person to person depending on their own, like languages and safe combinations, and they hope will be interesting to 10,000 per month.

It doesn't happen often. This is a dotted line on a weekend and sit alone and think. The proportions of OSes are: Windows 66.

If you want to help SCO sue them.

Currently the lowest rate seems to have fun in college. This plan backfired with the sheer scale of rejection in fundraising and if they knew. Nat.

In sufficiently disordered times, even if our competitors hate most?

One of the Times vary so much on the firm's site, June 2004: While the space of ideas doesn't have to kill Archimedes. Even the desire to do this with prices too, e. Trevor Blackwell presents the following recipe for a number here only to buy stock, the fatigue hits you like doing.

Ashgate, 1998. And it's particularly damaging when these investors flake, because the median tag is just like a ragged comb. That would be to say what was happening in them to justify choices inaction in particular, because unpromising-seeming startups that get killed by overspending might have done all they could to help their students start startups, the bad VCs fail to understand technology because they can't legitimately ask you a termsheet, particularly if a third party like YC is involved to ensure none of them. If you actually started acting like adults.

Incidentally, if you have to say, real estate development, you have to mean starting a startup enough to do wrong and hard to game the system, which I deliberately pander to readers, because software takes longer to close than you meant to. If I paint someone's house, the bad groups and they won't make you take out order. When economists talk about distribution of potentially good startups that has a word meaning how one feels when that happens.

If they were actually getting physically taller.

Why Startups Condense in America consider acting white.

A few VCs have an edge over Silicon Valley.

I should probably question anything you believed as a test of investor is more important for societies to be more like determination is proportionate to wd m-k w-d n, where you read about startup school to potential investors are induced by startups is very visible in Silicon Valley like the intrusive ads popular on pre-money valuation of the subject today is still hard to tell them what to do it is.

Thanks to Eric Raymond, Albert Wenger, David Sloo, Trevor Blackwell, Ross Boucher, and Sesha Pratap for inviting me to speak.

[migleefulmoments]

"Hahaha. A friend pointed this out. W online shops too!" What does this even mean?! I don't know anyone in 2020 who doesn't online shop besides my 80 year old grandparents because they refuse to learn how to use a computer 😂 I don't get how Will, a 30 something year old man, online shopping is worthy enough for Abby to comment on it. I'm sure Chris does it too. And Darren.

On Nov 5, Darren wrote this post and the cc fandom lost their shit.    

They decided that organizing 10 costumes for multiple events in two different states for two different people was not worthy of acknowledgment- especially since they wore several purchased costumes. They spent the next 30-ish days mocking her “online shopping skills” like the petty idiots they are and now they bring it up two months later. 

Anonymous asked: this is funny, C posted a photo of beard, D posted photos with the beard. Almost like they were sitting next to each other and saying “ok ok I will say this”

ajw720 answered: The only difference, C controls his SM and the bearding, D does not, but they knew the Halloween post was coming when C posted his belated b-day wishes (not that he acknowledged they were late).  

It really is, if you can remove the very human, tragic element, like a script for a really bad D Movie.  C posts “Happy Birthday, Babe!” a day after the man’s actual b-day and “D” praises his fake bride for MAKING TEN costumes.  Sure praise her if she actually designed them and sat with her sewing machine.  No, she went online and ordered things (I doubt she even went to a store).   And 3 couple costumes were cheap frankly.  The only thought was how narcissistic she could be in their execution (as @flowersintheattic254pointed out even the Mario costume had  a reason, it was a reminder of Japan and the fake encagement by referring to the ad that paid for their trip there).

And seriously how are people not questioning that she spent the entirety of her month picking TEN costumes?  Who has time for this?  I know, i know, a person whose only role in life is to play fake plus one.

I am just so tired by D in particular being utterly dragged down by the useless dead weight by his side and his team’s sole ambition to promote her and make her sound like a decent person.  

If they wanted to praise her, maybe they should have forced her to participate in the zero waste initiative instead of sitting drinking by the pool or have her volunteer to help young girls who have been kicked out of their homes, or have been raped.  Or pick any cause and truly volunteer her time to promote it.  If she is not going to actually get a job and pursue a career, please force her to do something that is actually of value and contribute something good to the world. But to praise her for picking TEN costumes?  

Praise that comes from a man who this year alone won three awards, is starring in a show he created and wrote the music for, has his first big movie premiere this week, is exec producer and star of a huge show on N/etflix, just announced his starring role with 2 A++ lists actors next spring on Broadway, celebrated the 5th anniversary of the festival he created, volunteered his time for the zero waste initiative, performed at several charity events, and was just yesterday name limited series actor of the decade.  Where is the praise for him from his “bride”?  He at least deserves it.

How do they not see how ridiculous it is for someone with D’s accomplishments in 2019 alone praise a person for purchasing TEN costumes for Halloween?  And stans, how do you accept that this is right or normal.  You really know nothing about him and have such little respect for him as a person if you continue to accept the character his idiotic team has created on his behalf.  It is so far from the person he is and that he generally holds himself out to be when given the opportunity.  

This isn’t about being a “gay fetishist” or “hating woman” this is about wanting for D to be fairly and accurately represented and no longer forced to participate in this stupid, life sucking game to promote a person that contributes absolutely nothing to the world.  If you want to have a strong female role model, there are so many, i’ve talked about a few in the past few days (thus far Nancy, Lea, and Phoebe) and will continue to do so, but please stop worshiping a person whose sole reason you are speaking about her is her connection to D, even if you refuse to accept it is fake.  

klainecentric Finished reading the funniest ig story of the day, the qween being praised for sitting in front of either a sewing machine or computer...bravo your majesty qween....your my hero well done.👏👏. And all I can think of is how irrelevant the statement D made about being an emotional horder, being a very private person and finally D saying he's lazy when it comes to social media, I'm internally screaming in frustration because yeah we know D wouldn't have written a post praising that lazy good for nothing waste of space but he's coming across as a lier and it's extremely damaging to his character as a person. I absolutely hate lying and every time another "private" moment is posted to the world is another small piece that's chipped away from what D has originally stated about privacy. PBB, nobody cares about your cheap arse highly flammable costumes you buy online, did you forget about your piano baby adult strip club. I'm sure there are still plenty of people out there you can hire to rub and flaunt their flanges all over the beer taps, why don't you keep busy on that instead. If you want to make costumes, I'm sure you can sew some mighty fine titty tassels together. It'll be cheap nasty, sound familiar.

souly So, let me get this straight. We should all praise a person for going online, looking up different costumes in online stores, putting those in their shopping basket and hitting “buy”? Because I do that at least once a week with other stuff. Do I get praised for that now? Pretty please? I’m doing good work there and buy a lot of stuff, therefore I must be the best person ever!

notes-from-nowhere You’re my Queen. Please, love me.

souly

(I think I got it right. I’m getting the hang of what said person is doing. Wheee! ;))

notes-from-nowhere You nailed it 🤣

ajw720 Yesterday I got a delivery of car food. And instead of his usual seafood mix up greats, I got him shrimp flavor. I’m awesome!!!!!

souly Oh, hey! I think we should all take pictures of whatever we bought online during the week or month and make individual posts on all of our social media accounts about it. Because, you know…

cassie1022 I picked up stuff I ordered online at Target and PetSmart. Does that count? Should I receive accolades because my cat will have fresh litter to do her business on?

souly Only if you post the pictures to prove it! ;)

ajw720 As soon as I get home. Pictures forthcoming. Shrimp cat treats and I also got a burgundy blanket for my new comforter!!! Life goals!!!!!!!!!!!

souly Okay, so, let’s see… What did I buy online during the past month that can be shared as pictures? Some things are gifts, so I obviously can’t post anything about those yet. But I think these here are safe.

Let’s start with one of my fav new shirts. (Excuse the grainy quality. I had to quickly edit it for privacy reasons. :p And yes, that’s a butterfly mirror.)

The rest are behind the cut to save your dash from drowning in too many pictures. ;)

cheekyface72 You’re my queen from now on…

ajw720 I think emmy/sag/gg/CC winner DC should write a post @soulypraising your awesome, amazing, unparalleled online shopping skills!  You earned that praise.  That cat toy is particularly spectacular.

*********************

Just A Taste of M’s Amazing Online Shopping Skills that are worthy of such Praise

ajw720

Super Mario with inflatable Dragon $54.66 (x)

Princess Peach $78.99 (x)

chrisdarebashfulsmiles. i can’t

flowersintheattic254. When you add the fact that the wedding was sponsored so heavily, and her history of outfits I think it shows Mi@rren is something that’s always been done very much ‘on the cheap’.

From work vacays (honeymoon included), RC ‘glue gun’ looks, thrift shoes and subsidized weddings.

It’s BUDGET BEARDING!!!

leka-1998. It’s not worth more than this, that’s for sure.

notes-from-nowhere  We are so ungrateful. She worked hard to find the gloves.

I bet she had to click on another link to find them. She deserves another accolade.

ajw720 @flowersintheattic254 Budget Bearding!  I LOVE It! (and something tells me D’s SW costume in particular was far cheaper than either of these).

souly That Snow White dress can be found for about $25 in a ton of online shops. I stumbled upon it even before Halloween way too many times. 😂

@notes-from-nowhere The plush question mark block can be found in a couple online stores like this one. She simply glued it onto some gloves - or asked L to do it with that glue gun of hers.

flowersintheattic254 Well funnily enough I think we may have confirmation that 🚽🚽 glued on the puppies so I guess YES to the question mark block too!!!

cassie1022 They can’t even glue things properly. Why am I not surprised?

leka-1998

SW

So, so amazing. Bow to the kween and her not so helpful helper.

************************************

There are lots more...I figured enough of your brain cells died reading the ones I posted.  On Nov 30 she is STiLL bringing it up”

Anonymous asked:

Whenever I see miarren gifset they always use the same quote underneath (the rolling the windows down quote) and at first I rolled my eyes and thought uh not that quote again, and I can't believe it took me this long to realise it's because there is literally no other quote that can be construed as loving. You can hardly put down "she's a big girl" whenever you make a set of gifs with M beaming and D looking like someone murdered the dog he's allergic to.

ajw720: And I love the Emmy quote as it was an absolute reference to his character who was a psychopath. Pretty telling if you ask me. But that reference is over their heads.

And pretty much the only one. Guess saying he’s a ball and chain kind of guy isn’t romantic. They can’t even take pooping exes as he clearly steered the conversation away from her. Lovely lady of many moons? Nah she sounds like a stranger. Saying nothing changes after marriage? Sounds boring. It’s a struggle. But hey she’s an excellent online shopper that he done got hitched to!!!

[rikumorimachisgirl]

Okay, let's try this one more time. This story was given feedback by the talented @cailannuesugi and @voltage-vixen. Thank you, ladies, for your help and encouragement when I felt like giving up.

Title: Meeting the Mogul

Ikesen Modern Day AU

A/N: This is my first fic, so please don't expect it to be perfect. I also don't own Ikesen Nobunaga and the other characters except my OC. Cybird owns them.

This is inspired by the artwork I commissioned from @shrimpalompa 💕

With her eyebrows furrowed, Mia allowed her feet to drag along the length of Manhattan's busy streets. Despite the crowd of busy professionals hurrying to buy their lunches from the food trucks lined up along 50th Street, and the incessant honking of cars and taxis stuck in traffic, all she could think of is how badly she messed up her last interview.

The delightful scent of sauteed garlic and onions wafting in the air made her stomach growl slightly louder than usual. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to eat a nice gyro sandwich at Lil Zeus Food Truck, but with only fifty dollars to tide her over until she finds a job, she took a deep breath, turned away from the food truck, and continued to walk. She took one step after another, until the concrete pavement was replaced by a patch of green, and the sound of car horns was replaced by the catchy melody of a marching band practicing nearby.

Central Park was beautiful at this time of day - mostly because the afternoon crowd and the throngs of tourists don't frequent the place at this hour.

She sat on the grass, defeated. She had one shot at getting employed as a clerk in the prestigious firm, and she totally screwed her interview. "Seriously, who asks about the President's background during the interview anyway? " she wondered out loud still feeling bitter about her failure at the hands of Azuchi Inc's, Vice President of Human Resources, Hideyoshi Toyotomi. She sighed again, took out her mobile and typed in the keywords 'Nobunaga Oda, Azuchi Inc'. Pages upon pages of news articles about the President and CEO appeared on her screen, much to her surprise. As her finger hovered over one of the articles, she silently cursed herself for not having thought of doing this yesterday before she finally gave in and pored over the details on the mysterious mogul.

***

He watched her as she sat on the grass with her back turned to him.  He winced at the last thought; then again, she didn't seem like the type who'd pick out her dates online.From where he stood, it appeared like she was playing a game on her phone or browsing one of those social media sites his employees are so fond of... Or maybe checking out a dating site. Though she didn’t seem like the type to rely on other sources to help her find a date. His thoughts drifted to their first encounter yesterday, and he smirked.

In an attempt to avoid the possibility of listening to his Vice President of Human Resources' complaints about his decision to ride his bike to work, he opted to enter the building through the ever-busy and usually crowded Talent Management Hub. Donned in a black button-down shirt, which he wore untucked with a pair of dark denim jeans, he handed his helmet to the seemingly dumbstruck guard and made his way to the exit leading to the main lobby. Just as he was about to step into the main lobby, he felt someone grip his wrist tightly.

"Excuse me, where do you think you're going?"

He turned and saw a girl - not more than twenty-four if he had to guess - looking sternly at him while she gripped his wrist tightly.

He heard collective gasps around them, but she didn't seem to have noticed. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the managers make his way towards them, but he stopped him before he could get any closer. The clock on the wall read 9:25 am, so he had a good five minutes before his weekly meeting with Marketing, but the girl holding on to him intrigued him so much, he didn't mind canceling. Just what was she trying to get at by stopping him, he wondered.

"Didn't you just arrive, Sir? You don't have an ID, so you must be an applicant, too," she said gently, as she tugged him to follow her to the waiting area. Still confused, he glanced at the other people who were quietly seated, trying to avoid his gaze. "It's unprofessional to cut the line, you know. Let's wait for our turn here."

He chuckled at the realization that she didn't know who he was. He decided to humor her by sitting beside her, but it didn't take long until she was called for her initial screening. It was at that moment that he decided they needed to hire her. However, when Hideyoshi dished out his infamous rapid-fire "Oda Fast Facts" on her, there was no doubt she wasn't going to be signing a contract with them.  The dashing dark-haired mogul frowned as he recalled the report he was given on the status of her application. He recognized potential when he sees one, and knew they had just let this one slip away. He left word that he was having lunch elsewhere, and took off with his Vice President of Operations following closely at his heel.

"You know what you should do next? You should buy that Lil’ Zeus food truck. Have you seen the line? It felt like ages before I got us some of these!" A familiar voice brought him out of his thoughts and he glanced sideways to see that his executive had just arrived carrying a gyro on each hand. "It's about time you got here. What was the matter, couldn't charm the ladies to get ahead? You must be losing your touch, Mitsuhide, " he teased.

The silver-haired executive smirked as he handed one of the gyros to his boss. "I'll have you know I snaked my way to the front of the line in less than 2 minutes. The cook ran out of oregano and they had to get a fresh batch." He paused for a second or two to take in the scenery before him. "So is there a reason you wanted to have lunch here?"

"No reason, " the dark-haired debonaire responded, his carnelian colored eyes sparkling with mischief as he stared at the girl whose back was turned at them once again. "I see, " Mitsuhide said, thrusting the other gyro at him. "Good luck, boss. I'll see you at the office." He flashed the young executive a dazzling smile before he turned and made his way towards the unassuming girl.

***

"That's funny, he has no pictures, " she mentioned, after opening yet another news article about the mysterious Nobunaga Oda - the sixth since she started - and there still wasn't any photos of the man in question.  

"Usually that’s the case when the person's not very good looking."

Startled at the sound of his voice, she jumped and turned around. Standing a few feet away from her was the man she met in the interview. Though she still didn't know his name considering she never asked in the interview, and he never introduced himself. Today, he was wearing a white button-down shirt, which was still untucked and a pair of khaki trousers. She never noticed how attractive he was until today - more like a model, with his tall and well-toned physique, which was evident in the cut of his clothes.  

"It's you, " she said. 

"Yeah. Me, " he replied. "Had lunch?"

"Yes, " she nodded, but her stomach wasn't having it. Her face flushed red as soon as her stomach growled. 

He snickered. "You know, I happen to have an extra gyro."

"Do you always happen to carry a spare gyro around?"

Her retort made him laugh, as he really didn't see that coming. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're hilarious, " he asked. He plopped down beside her in the grass and handed her one of the gyros. "And to answer your question, I carry them around in case I get lucky and see a pretty girl who is in desperate need of lunch." 

"My hero, " she smiled. "Thank you for this. I'm Mia, by the way. And you?"

He shrugged, ignoring the fact that she had introduced herself. "So, what were you doing on your phone, looking for a date or something?"

"Of course not, " she said, as she munched on her sandwich. "I was curious to see what Nobunaga Oda looks like."

"Why would you want to know how he looks?" 

She took out her phone with one hand and showed him the search results. "See these? I've read six articles about him, and not one of them contained any pictures of him. Isn't that strange?"

He scanned the titles and frowned. "Maybe he doesn't want his picture taken." 

"Why though? I think he's amazing. I mean, he's not even from here, yet he made a name for himself and he's been helping boost Japan's economy even from offshore. He's made a name for himself in a place where people least expected him to. His achievements are known all over Japan, and that's why I wanted so badly to come to New York and work at Azuchi Inc."

He cocked an eyebrow at her passionate response. It sure wasn't the first time he's heard people sing praises about him and his organization, but it felt different hearing it from someone who had nothing to gain from sharing this with him because she absolutely had no idea who he was. 

"Speaking of which, whatever happened to your application?" It was her turn to ask. For a moment, he almost forgot that she thought he was an applicant, too. She cleared her throat. "What's the matter? You know you don't have to be embarrassed if you didn't make it. I mean, I didn't -"

"Why did you fail?"

She frowned. That was twice he ignored her questions, yet he had the gall to ask her such a rude question. What kind of person is he exactly, she silently wondered. 

"If you're done trying to assess whether I'm trustworthy or not, would you mind answering my question?"

Rude. This man was just plain rude, she concluded. "Why do I need to answer that?"

"Because I gave you a sandwich, " he said, as he lay carelessly on the grass with his hands behind his head.. "And because you look like you're going to tell me anyway."

She sighed. Well, he wasn't wrong, she thought. "I suppose it was it because I didn't know a thing about the President and CEO of Azuchi, Inc, " she said, hanging her head low. "Except for his name, I didn't know where he came from, what his philosophy was, his advocacy, why he prefers to drink tea from Japan…"

"Don't you think that information is useless?"

"I used to. I'm not gonna lie that I felt really bad after the interview with Mr. Toyotomi. I felt bad because I thought those questions he asked me were ridiculous, " she said, as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I realized something while I was reading through the articles about Nobunaga Oda. I now understand that Mr. Toyotomi only wanted to make sure I knew and understood Mr. Oda's vision because it is only when you understand that you can actually contribute to that vision by working hard. I didn't really know that this morning, but now, I'd do anything to get another shot at that interview."

His eyes never left hers as she spoke, and with each topic, he found himself more and more entranced by her - perhaps it was the way her face lit up and her hands moved as she spoke about the things she was passionate about, or her wistful smile as she stared at the lake in between topics. He was captivated, so much so that he hadn't noticed that time has gone by until he felt his phone vibrate. 

Frowning, he took out the sleek gadget from his pocket and was briefly surprised. It was 3:00 pm - way past his supposed lunch break. Hideyoshi would have a fit, he silently thought, smirking. 

Sighing, he sat up and brushed the dirt off the back of his shirt. "As much as I'd like to stay and talk some more -"

"You have to go, " she said, cutting him off. She watched him quietly as he straightened his clothes up and ran his hand through his messy black hair. She had never been so drawn to a person before, but there was something about him that spoke to her - maybe it was the way he listened to her like what she was saying was important or the way he challenged her opinion every now and then… or even the way she saw her reflection in his eyes when he smiled. 

The light clapping sound that resonated in the air as he dusted off his clothes faded, and she suddenly felt her heart grow heavy - like all three weeks worth of homesickness had finally kicked in. 

"You look like you're gonna cry, " he teased, as he stood and offered his hand out to her. "Are you gonna miss me?"

"Am not, " she replied while he pulled her to her feet. "But did I get you in trouble?"

"I'm late for a meeting. Nothing I can't handle, " he winked. "I'm just gonna tell them that I met an interesting girl in Central Park."

"You make me sound weird."

He snickered. "Okay. How about I say a cute girl held me hostage?"

"They're not gonna believe you, " she replied, her face turning slightly red. 

"Here, " he said, handing his phone over to her. "Let's take a picture, in case they require proof."

"And make me the laughing stock of your team, "she retorted but allowed him to take a picture anyway.

"They wouldn't dare laugh, " he assured her as he checked their picture and smiled. "This is a good picture."

"Yes, it is." She peered at his handsome face in the picture and smiled.

"I don't like having my picture taken because I always seem to look strange, but I like this one, " he smiled back. "Well then…"

"Yeah, I guess this is goodbye."

"I'll see you tomorrow at 8."

"What? Here?"

He laughed, and the rich sound tickling her ear. "At my office, silly. Tell Mr. Toyotomi I sent you there. He'll be able to give you an orientation, " he said casually and then turned to leave. 

"Mr. Toyotomi - as in the guy from Azuchi, Inc? I'm confused… Whom should I say sent me, " she called out as he started to walk. 

"Oh. Tell him I sent you, " he turned to face her once again and exaggerated a bow. "Nobunaga Oda. I never told you before, but it's a pleasure to meet you, Mia. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she watched him disappear in the distance, she almost failed to notice a new text message that read: 

'We are pleased to offer you the role of Assistant to the CEO. Please report to Mr. Hideyoshi Toyotomi's office at the 41st floor of Azuchi, Inc tomorrow at 8:00 am sharp. - Mitsunari Ichida, Director of Talent Management.'

End. 

[ramheavenandhell]

The Lines Between Ricks And Mortys – Chapter 6: "Never more than five Mortys, huh?" / "I hate you!!"

AN: This is it now people. The last chapter. It's the one that I'm actually most excited about and I hope that you'll like it :) Also sorry for posting slightly late, but stuff came up yesterday. Warnings: more Morty battles, so violence

The Lines Between Ricks And Mortys – Chapter 6: "Never more than five Mortys, huh?" / "I hate you!!" "So, why are we doing this again?" Rick C-133 asked his Morty, as they stood hidden behind the Morty Day Care. "We're trying to follow that corrupt Guard Rick to find out where the brothel is located at." The boy replied irritated. "Yeah, I got that part. But tell me again why WE are the ones doing that? Shouldn't K-4872 be the one to do this espionage bit since he was the one that wanted to find the culprit behind those illegal activities?" "Well, he's busy investigating something or someone else right now and asked us if we could do this." "You do realize that we're also busy trying to find a certain culprit. Do I really have to remind you of that?!" "No, but maybe we find our Morty there, too. What better hiding place would there be for him?" Rick didn't have a comeback to that. It was probably true that their mysterious Morty would be able to blend in best in a place that was full of Mortys, but still had limited access. Yet, he wanted to argue back that it might be too much of a coincidence to find the one they're looking for like that. Not that their current search all over the Citadel had yielded much better results so far. Just as he was about to open his mouth to make another comment, Rick was shushed by his Morty. The boy was peeking around the corner and saw the Rick that they had been waiting for standing at the otherwise empty counter. He really was dressed in civil now – better said, he was sporting the standard lab coat and blue sweater that most dimensions' Ricks seemed to prefer. It was really a surprise that he still continued to do this after he had seen and overheard how they had cornered Storage Rick today. Maybe Storage Rick was really good at convincing him that everything was still good and he really didn't rat anyone out. Whatever it was, Morty tried to keep an eye on the Rick's actions while trying to not be noticed, staying hidden behind the corner and having to be careful if they wanted to follow him stealthily to wherever he was going to deliver the five Mortys that he was getting handed…

Rick C-137 and his group of Mortys meanwhile were on their way to the building where the "Council of Dicks" resided in. He finally had enough badges together to fight them. It was actually ridiculous how many you needed just to be allowed to kick all of their asses. However, he finally had collected enough and was also pretty confident in his team of Mortys that he had gathered. Not that he really needed to worry about that anyways, since he knew the council enough to know that those Ricks were all talk, but had no bite behind it. The only thing that they could do was to abuse their position to enforce stupid stuff on other Ricks, but if you were to strip them of that power, they would be absolutely nothing. "Well, c'mon, Morty. This finally starts to feel like we're getting somewhere in this story. If we win this, we're finally going to get my portal gun back. And hey, you even managed to clear up your little side-quest-thing there—that big thing that you were playing detective for and now all of those Mortys will be saved and everyone's gonna get a happy end. Well, as long as you don't lose against the Mortys from the Council Dicks that we're going to face now." Rick drawled to his original grandson on their way there. "It's not solved yet, but you're right. C-133 should be able to find the location now and then they can report it to the Citadel police so that they can arrest everyone involved…" Morty didn't sound as enthusiastic as he should. His Rick was right. Things were finally starting to look up. They would be clearing up the whole Morty-trafficking affair and when they defeated the Council they would get their portal gun back so that his grandpa could concentrate on hunting Mysterious Rick down. And he should have no doubt that his Rick would find him – he'd probably made some sort of tracking gadget again to find the other. The only one that they couldn't help with resolving their problem now was the C-133 duo (and Rick P-78 and his Morty who were only here to help those two). It was certainly worrisome to know that there was a Morty out there who was willing to kill other Mortys and try to turn Ricks into mindless puppets. In a way it reminded him a little of that event with Evil Rick who also kidnapped Mortys and tried to download the contents of his Rick's brain. He wondered why that Morty was doing that – what could be his endgame? However, there was no time to worry about that for him now. The entrance of the government building came already in sight and the only thing he would have to worry about now was winning their next battles. Actually, he felt a little pumped up about this and more motivated than in the beginning. Maybe he was just getting used to fighting? Whatever it was, he felt ready for it. As they ventured up the small flight of steps, it struck Morty as odd that the Guard Ricks that were usually positioned next to the doors weren't there, but he didn't dwell too much on it. However, he probably should have thought about that because once they walked inside, he saw what had happened to them: The Guard Ricks (who were unconscious) as well as all of the Council members had been beaten and tied up. And the Rick who was responsible for it stood right in the middle of it all… "That's it. You Council of Idiots have fucked up so much that I will take matters into my own hands now. I will take all of the Mortys on the Citadel with me!" Mysterious Rick declared with an insane glint in his eyes. "What? That's Rickdiculous!" Riq VI said. "Wait! Could that mean that Mysterious Rick is the one behind the Morty kidnappings?! And the t-thing with the illegal brothels?!" Morty C-137 blurted out and directed the attention of everyone inside the room to them now. The new voice made Mysterious Rick also spin around in surprise. He grinned lecherously as his eyes landed on Morty C-137 and he seemed to instantly recognize him. "Oh, it's you, my lovely. I'm really glad to see you." He said. Morty felt chills running down his spine and he was surprised, but also relieved as his Rick stepped in front of him and shielded him with his body. As Mysterious Rick's eyes fell on Rick C-137, his grin dropped and was replaced with a scowl that matched the other's face. "Not too happy about seeing you again though." He seethed. "The feeling is mutual, but we still have some unfinished business left to discuss." "Well, unfortunately you picked a really bad timing. It's still a little too early for our confrontation." Mysterious Rick smiled evilly and threw an object at him. Rick's eyes widened and he yelled at his Mortys "Duck!" before also getting down and covering his face as the bomb landed on the ground. However, instead of exploding, it only released smoke. As Rick looked up again, he could see the tail end a familiar red cape fluttering right past him. "Quick! He's trying to escape!" Rick shouted and he and his Mortys gave chase. "H-Hey! What about us?" yelled the still tied up council members after the retreating team. Mysterious Rick ran. That C-137 had really picked a bad timing there. This wasn't how he had planned it, dammit!

The C-133 duo meanwhile had been able to follow Rick T-42 without getting detected. "Aw fuck! You gotta be shitting me!!" The Rick groaned out loudly. It made the pair wonder what was up since they were not able to see what he was seeing right now. "Don't worry about that, T-42." A voice suddenly rang out through the small alley. It came from a person that stood on the roof. The C-133 duo flinched, not sure if the mysterious person had seen them from where he stood. "Just bring them to the other one in sector 3 for now." The boy who could only be a Morty continued to instruct. "Got ya." The Rick replied and ventured off to the opposite direction with all five Mortys still trailing obediently behind him. Morty C-133 wondered if they should continue to follow T-42 or concentrate on the ominous Morty on the roof who seemed to have a much higher rank in this trafficking organization. Besides, if they walked after the Rick, he would surely see them. That is if he hadn't already… "I haven't really expected you two to show up here so fast." The Morty directed at them now. Okay, so he had already seen them. "Holy crap! Morty, that's him! That's the zany Morty that we're looking for!" Rick suddenly blurted out. It took a few moments to recognize the other since he wore such a weird outfit: a black uniform with a red 'M' on its front, matching hat and mask and a red cape. However, there was no mistaking that this was the weird Morty that had hired those Mercenary Ricks to kidnap his Morty and tried to manipulate him! He could just tell from that voice and attitude.

Said Morty didn't seem to be bothered that he was found out since he only grinned at Rick C-133's outburst. Then he suddenly began to bolt. "Quick, Morty! Don't lose him!" Rick bellowed and instantly ran after the culprit. As they dashed out of the alleyway, Morty vaguely noticed that the building that T-42 had led them to was surrounded by police vehicles and Guard Ricks were swarming the place. Looks like the police forces and/or militia of the Citadel had already found one of the brothels and was busting the place. So at least that was a problem that was getting resolved already. Good for K-4872. Now if they would only be able to catch this Morty, they would have also accomplished their own mission.

"Damn, did we lose him?" Rick C-137 turned in every direction, trying to figure out which way Mysterious Rick had run. He and his troupe of Mortys were panting heavily, having chased the weirdo Rick up until this point, but apparently lost sight of him as they came to this cross-section. Rick was pissed, not believing that the other just got away like that when he was so goddamn close to catching him. He was almost ready to give up when he suddenly caught sight of a red cape that just vanished around a corner. "There he is! C'mon, Mortys!" The group continued to chase after their suspect, however, after a while of following this guy, they noticed that something was off. "Wait a second, Rick. This guy isn't Mysterious Rick. Doesn't he look like a Morty?" Morty C-137 began to ask midrun. Indeed, the figure that they were chasing after now looked too short to be a Rick, so it could obviously only be a Morty. Of course, his grandfather had already noticed that, too. "Yeah, Morty, but see that outfit that he wears? It's the same as that weirdo has and I doubt that it's coincidence. Chances are high that this Morty is his acquaintance or at least somehow connected to him and this time we won't lose him." What Morty hadn't noticed was that the scientist had pulled out his handy Mortytector. With the help of the device they would be able find him again even if he would manage to outrun team C-137. Rick had already read his dimension number and would be able to track him anywhere now.

"Goddamnit!" Rick C-133 cursed as he looked around the cross-section. They had just lost the Morty that they had been chasing after. And he still hadn't bothered to build a Mortypad with which he would have been able to trace him. Just his luck. "Oh man. What do we do now, Rick?" Morty wondered, looking at the surrounding streets in confusion as he tried to figure out where his evil counterpart went. "We lost him, Morty. So there's nothing we can do now. I have no way to track the little shit…" They could only admit defeat now as much as Rick hated to do it. Back to square one, though not entirely stuck as before since they at least knew now that the little psycho seemed to have to do something with that illegal brothel ring… "Hey, Rick! There!" Morty pointed to a figure that just disappeared around a corner. Immediately the duo chased after them, but Morty quickly realized his mistake. "Oh, that's not that Morty. It's actually a Rick." The boy was about to stop, but his Rick kept running, so he started to jog after his grandfather again. "Maybe. But this Rick wears the same weird uniform as our Morty, so he might lead us to the little shit." "Wha-what are you doing?" Morty asked as he saw that the scientist pulled his mobile phone from his lab coat. "I'm calling P-78, so he can cut off the guy's escape route. Otherwise it's stupid just trying to chase and risk losing him again." The other replied while he quick-dialed the aforementioned Rick's number. There was no way that Rick C-133 would make the same mistake twice…

Mysterious Rick was getting pretty annoyed that he couldn't shake off his pursuer. For a moment, he had actually thought that he managed to lose them, but suddenly they were right behind him again. Of course, in his haste he didn't notice that the duo that was following him now were not Rick and Morty C-137, but C-133 even though it was probably weird that the other Mortys weren't there anymore, but for all he knew they had decided to split up in search for him. Since he was too busy to come up with an idea how he could get away – using his portal gun was out of the question since they were close enough to follow him through it and he didn't want his precious Legendary Morty end up getting stranded in a dangerous place – and too focused on the Rick and Morty behind him, he didn't pay attention to where exactly he ran. So, he only noticed too late when he ran into someone else. As he looked at the person that he had crashed into, he was confused because it was a Morty who had copied his get-up. Considering that escape was of higher priority to him, he got up again and tried to continue running. However, that didn't work out very well because his escape route was suddenly blocked off by another Rick and Morty pair – P-78 and A22ß6. He also quickly noticed that escaping to his right was not possible since Team C-137 which had been chasing after the weird Morty had also caught up now. That left him with only one way, but that was surprisingly quickly blocked off as well as Rick and Morty K-4872 showed up – wherever those two had suddenly come from. Mysterious Rick groaned, seeing as he wouldn't be able to simply get out of this now. With narrowed eyes, he looked at the mysterious Morty who he was going to blame for his failed escape now. His eyes widened for a moment, as he seemed to recognize the boy. "Oh, great. Not you of all people." He murmured sarcastically. The Morty only humphed in recognition. "Wow, guys! What are you doing here?" Morty C-137 asked while trying to catch his breath. "Yeah, I also wanted to ask you that." Morty C-133 retorted. "We were following Rick T-42 as agreed and then we ran into this Morty, who is the same Morty that we have been looking for, but then we lost him and saw this Rick and then we followed him." "We went to the Council and Mysterious Rick was there and we've been chasing him, lost him and then we found this Morty who wears the same clothes as him, so we followed him instead." C-137 also explained. "A-an-and we're ju-just here be-because C-133 called u-us." Morty A22ß6 said. His Rick added, "Yeah, because we were supposed to cut this Rick's escape route off." All eyes turned to the K-4872 duo. "And we're here because we were tracking Mysterious Rick. I know that this is the Rick that C-137 was looking for now, but that isn't the only reason why we were after him." "It's because he has to do with the Morty kidnappings, right?" Morty C-137 threw in now. "He said something like wanting to take all the Mortys of the Citadel when he was in the Council building." "Not quite." Morty K-4872 corrected him. "Mysterious Rick or better said Rick C-777 is actually the owner and CEO of Morty Inc. which is handling all Pocket Mortys related facilities like the Day Care and the Morty Games Coliseum. But that doesn't mean that he's all innocent since he's known for having an obsession with collecting Mortys and it's pretty obvious that these facilities were just used as a means to broaden his collection." The mysterious Morty scoffed as he listened to that. Mysterious Rick threw in evil glare in the boy's direction. Morty K-4872 continued with what he had found out during his investigation, "What is even more interesting to note is that he is actually the one who had hired us to assassinate Rick S-121 because the Morty brothel ring is hindering his Morty collecting obsession." "Oh, I should have known that you were behind that!" The evil Morty spoke up again and looked angrily at Mysterious Rick. "What did you think you were doing, you asshole?!" "Oh, I know what you were doing, trying to steal these Mortys away and making my search for the Legendary Morty unnecessarily harder!" The culprit Rick retorted. "Wait? So does that mean that the Morty that C-133 was looking for is behind that Morty brothel ring now?" Morty C-137 threw in, getting more confused by the minute. "Yes, it seems that way." Morty K-4872 confirmed. "This Morty has been manipulating Ricks and Mortys alike to build up his whole crime organization. And he had been stealing from Rick C-777's facilities the entire time." The revelation brought Mysterious Rick to sprout another tirade at the Morty who had no scruple using Ricks and Mortys to get what he wanted. "You, little fuck! You stole from me! All those precious Mortys! And if that wasn't bad enough you had to dirty them! You've ruined everything, absolutely everything that I spent so much time on to build up!!" Rick C-777 seethed. "Dirtying them? And what do you think it is that you were doing or trying to do to those Mortys?" Morty C-777 shot back, apparently feeling not even an ounce of regret for the things that he had done. "I'm not like those Ricks. I'm different and I was only trying to find the perfect Morty." Saying that, Mysterious Rick looked straight at Morty C-137, who couldn't stop himself from shuddering. Gulping soundly, he stepped up and with a lightly unstable voice, he forced out, "Y-you're both horrible people! And even if you—" he pointed at Mysterious Rick at that. "—have been fighting against that brothel ring, it was only so that you could go and rape all the Mortys instead, which is in no way better than what he had been doing!!" Completely ignoring what the other Morty had just said, the evil brunet asked his fittingly-dressed counterpart, "So, did you finally get the Morty that you had wanted?" "Well, I've caught a few Mortys, but none of them were good enough for me yet, just like my original Morty." He stressed those last two words as he looked sharply at the boy. "However, despite your worst efforts, I was finally able to find the Legendary Morty and I only want him – Morty C-137 – because he is the purest Morty of them all. Unlike the little shit that I had been cursed with!!" "Wait! Does that mean that this Morty is actually your original Morty?" For Morty C-137 the pieces of the puzzle finally started to fall into place – somewhat at least. "Yep, it is." His grandfather confirmed, looking at his Mortytector. "Dimension C-777. That's his." "That one is no Morty of mine. He is so impure – the most impure Morty there is. I don't want him or want anything to do with him." Rick C-777 shouted and looked clearly disgusted at even being brought in connection with the boy who still stood next to him. "I'm just interested in pure and innocent Mortys. And I'm going to make them all mine." Before anyone could even say something else, Morty C-137 stepped forward. "That's it! I've had enough of this! Let me at him, Rick. I'm gonna beat that bastard for good now." Rick C-137 wore a proud grin on his face. "Sure, Morty. If that's what you want, be my guest." If the boy was finally getting into it, then by all means… Mysterious Rick blinked in confusion, but saw that there was obviously no other way out of this situation than to battle it out. So he grabbed his portal gun and opened a portal, so he could summon his own Mortys to fight for him. "Come, my Mortys." He called and not soon after a few Mortys departed from the open vortex. "What? Where is the rest of you guys?" "Do you know how late it is, Rick? Most of us have already gone to bed." One sleepy Morty answered and rubbed one of his eyes. "Then go back and wake them up! I need all of you for this battle." "Okay." The Morty trotted back into the portal, which closed again. He would just have to do in the meantime with the Mortys that he had here. The first wave consisted of eight Mortys in total – of course, the cheater had to summon more than was allowed according to the official rules. "Never more than five Mortys, huh?" Morty C-137 complained about that. "I guess there are just some Ricks who don't like to play by the rules, Morty." His grandpa replied to that. Unfortunate as it was, his team really only consisted of five Mortys in total, which was going to place them at a disadvantage now. Or at least that was what Rick C-137 had thought, completely forgetting that they weren't entirely alone right now. "C'mon, Morty. Get in there and help them." Rick K-4872 suddenly spoke up. "What?! Why?!" His Morty instantly protested. "What? Y-you think that they can—they can do it alone? Just look at how many Mortys he has." "He's right, Morty." Rick C-133 said now. "You go in there and help them out, too." While Morty C-133 sounded anything but pleased at the prospect, he obediently walked over towards the other Mortys, who were getting ready for the battle. He couldn't deny that C-137's Mortys alone wouldn't be able to do it. Rick P-78 looked at his own Morty, but instead of ordering to also get into the fight, as the other Ricks had, he asked, "You wanna join in, too?" He certainly wasn't going to "force" his Morty into this if he didn't want to. Morty A-22β6 looked at him for a moment as if to contemplate, but then resolution showed on his face as he nodded. "Y-y-yeah because—" and then he turned to Mysterious Rick and yelled clear and without stuttering "—because Ricks like you give nice Ricks like Q-89 a bad reputation!" A disappointed groan could be heard and Rick P-78 slapped a hand on his face and dragged it down in annoyance. "Really, Morty? Really? That's your reasoning here?" he asked and looked at his Morty, his face showing that he was questioning him, but not angry. "What's wrong, P-78? Getting jealous?" Rick C-133 couldn't help, but mock him. "As if! Why should I be jealous?!" Rick P-78 fired back. He really wasn't. Even if his Morty was attracted to Rick Q-89, he had already told him that he wanted to stay with him and be his Morty. Only his. The thought made him almost blush, but Ricks don't blush, so he was able to fight the face coloration down before anyone could take notice of it. The Mortys were now facing off against each other, as each seemed to pick their opponent. Morty C-137 was standing opposite to the Rick Morty that they had met in the dungeon who was still clad in the self-made wig and the stolen shirt and lab coat from his original Rick as well as holding said Rick's well preserved brain firmly in his small hands as it was still leaking fluid onto the ground. His opponent's bloodshot eyes were staring directly into his own. However, Morty didn't shudder or react otherwise to it. While he still thought that the other Morty was creepy, he wasn't scared of this battle. He had been more than ready to fight when they were on their way to the Council and his confidence and will to brawl hadn't lessened one bit over the entire chase. Morty C-133 meanwhile was faced with the Super Rick Fan Morty. However, he instantly noticed that his opponent was barely paying attention to him. No, instead the fan seemed much more interested in Rick C-133. And it was pissing Morty off. This was already the second time that a Morty was awfully interested in his Rick. What was the deal with that? Morty wasn't willing to share – he had already had a hard time accepted Summer to join in on their "Rick and Morty adventures" – and least of all was he willing to hand his Rick over to anyone else. That was his grandpa! Morty A-22β6 looked at his opponent who was none other than a Mermaid Morty, who looked a little out of his element, balancing with his tail on the concrete. The shy brunet swallowed heavily while mentally telling himself that he shouldn't be scared now. After all, he had been able to defeat the nightmarish version of his original Rick and he had the support of his new Rick as well as Rick Q-89 (even if he wasn't present right now) and that was all that he truly needed to face off in this battle. Morty K-4872 was facing Crazy Cat Morty and couldn't help but instantly feel really bad as he stared into the innocent eyes of the other. Unlike Team C-137 he wasn't seasoned in Morty battles, so he acted as he always had to on his missions - pointing his laser gun at the enemy. Of course, it only made him feel more miserable because he knew that he shouldn't really shoot the other Morty. It wasn't the boy's fault. He was just being controlled and the one who was actually at fault here was obviously Rick C-777. It was always a Rick. And it's also always a Rick that he shoots down in the end, so he began to think that it's just the best if they take the short route and aimed with his pistol at Mysterious Rick now. What he didn't notice in time was that at that exact moment the Cat Morty's eyes changed and he hissed as he noticed that his Rick was in danger. The crazy Morty instantly leapt to attack K-4872, biting and scratching at him like a wild animal and managing to topple him over, so that he accidentally dropped his gun in the process. Judge Morty meanwhile looked in confusion at the one that would be his opponent. It was a Colossal Head Morty who looked equally confused back at the former. The judge was pretty sure that he had never seen anything crazy like this before in his life. Ironically, the Morty that consistent of nothing more than a giant head, thought the exact same thing as he looked at the judiciary executioner. Shadow Morty was the one who looked the most unsure with his enemy, yet there was no doubt that he picked the most fitting one for himself – he was staring at the Phantom Morty. The other ghost-like Morty looked at him with sorrowful eyes and it was hard to tell who he was pitying more – himself or the specter. Morticia couldn't help but cringed at the enemy that she was stuck with. The strong stench of urine could be smelled from all the way where she stood and she was totally grossed out from seeing how dirty that Hobo Morty was. While she usually wasn't as squeamish as most girls, she thought that she found her master for sure this time… Super Morty Fan Morty looked downright delighted at the opponent that he got. But also confused. "Are you actually a Morty in there?" he asked as he stared at Mascot Morty. His enemy sighed, looking anything but pleased at having to battle now. As if a silent signal fell, the Mortys started to jump at each other – minus Morty K-4872 and the Crazy Cat Morty who were already wrestling with each other on the ground. Morty C-137 tackled the Rick Morty to the ground who in turn let his Rick's brain drop. In slight shock he stared at the pinkish mass that laid on the ground and C-137 also look towards it, but rather with badly hidden disgust. The next moment, he was suddenly pushed off, as Rick Morty seemed to have snapped. The cosplaying Morty attacked him relentlessly, clearly in a rage for what had just happened. Morticia meanwhile was still trying to keep an even distance from her enemy. She just couldn't shake off the disgust that she felt from even having to look at the hygiene-lacking Morty. Ironically, her enemy didn't try anything on her, just standing there and looking at her. "Do you like dogs?" he suddenly asked. Morticia stopped where she stood and questioningly looked back at him. "Uh…actually, not really. I'm more of a cat person." Hobo Morty looked displeased at the answer. K-4872 was naturally still busy wrestling with the crazy Morty with the fake cat ears. It was a real struggle for him since the other fought literally back with nails and teeth, scratching and biting him. "Ow! What the heck is wrong with you?" K-4872 yelled. "Quit acting like you're a feral animal! Is your Rick seriously making you act like this?!" Even if the other boy was remote controlled via the manipulator chip, it didn't really make sense to him. Maybe it wasn't entirely Mysterious Rick's doing, but this Morty seriously believed himself to be a cat and was therefore acting like this. A-22β6 gulped heavily as he looked at his opponent, who still hadn't done anything yet. The mermaid just tilted his head and looked curiously at him. "Are you a new friend?" he asked eventually. "U-uh… no. We-we're enemies. We're sup-supposed to f-fight a-against each other." The Shy Morty replied, a little confused that the mermaid even had to ask. "Oh." His opponent only replied and looked disappointed. A-22β6 was clearly confused and didn't know what to do now. Was he supposed to attack first or something? 'Here goes nothing.' He thought as he readied himself and advanced on his opponent. Super Morty Fan Morty meanwhile was already in the middle of his attack – though he didn't view it as such. He hung around the neck of the Mascot Morty and still tried to figure out what – or better said, who – was really underneath that mask. "C'mon! Are you a Morty wearing a Morty costume or are you someone else? I need to know!!" "Cut that out! Let go of me!!" Mascot Morty was clearly getting frustrated with the clingy Morty and tried to shake him off of himself again. Unfortunately, for him, to no avail… The showdown between the two ghostly Mortys looked anything but spectacular at the moment. They were just staring at each other with sad and lonely eyes. If you were close enough to them, you would actually be able to hear them communicate with each other, using pitiful wails and moans. Looks like this was a battle that wouldn't take off very soon… Judge Morty meanwhile was still looking in irritation at the Colossal Head Morty. The bodiless Morty meanwhile floated around, looking like he was searching for an opening to attack the other Morty, but also looking as if he was scared getting to close to him. Still the Morty in the black robes didn't leave his enemy out of his eyes and his stare was intense enough that it might as well be an attack on its own – and it was clearly causing damage to his opponent. C-133 on his end was currently still being ignored by his opponent. "You're Rick C-133, aren't you? C-dimension Ricks are so incredible." The fanboy fawned. Rick C-133 looked anything but pleased by the attention that he received and tried to inch further away. "Uh, Morty? How about you start attacking this little lunatic? Any time now?" "I would if he would finally start looking at me!" Morty replied, getting more and more frustrated by the minute as he just kept being ignored. His Rick looked at him as if asking if he was really serious. Being fed up with it, Morty decided that he just would make the other look at him. Even while this whole fight was like another battle royal again, Mysterious Rick was very focused on it and with his longstanding experience as a Morty trainer – how long had Pocket Mortys been a thing anyway? – he was able to evenly order his Mortys to attack. At his Rick's command, Super Rick Fan Morty forced himself to turn away from Rick C-133 and eagerly went to attack Morty C-133. The boy in the yellow shirt was actually hit by surprise since he had been convinced that he needed to land the first hit to get the attention. So, the fanboy's attack came out of nowhere for him since he had just suddenly turned around and clogged him straight in the face. The force of the punch was enough to knock C-133 on the ground and he looked up in shock as the other didn't even give him time to recover from it and just pounced on him to continue with what he had started now. "Don't be scared now and just attack him!" was the order that Colossal Head Morty received from his Rick. It was as if that simple sentence drained all the fear from him and before Judge Morty could react, the floating head came charging right at him. The bodiless Morty rammed with his full weight into the public officer who was swept off his feet by the force. Judge Morty coughed and rolled on the ground in order to get up again, clearly struggling with this usually easy task. The hit really took it out of him. Phantom Morty finally also went into action and stopped fraternizing with the enemy as he heard his Rick's voice. The glowing ghost Morty floated towards the specter and grabbed his neck, attempting to strangle the other. While it would have been normally impossible for that to work since Shadow Morty had no physical form the ectoplasmic creature was in the same state as him and therefore something akin to physical contact between them was possible. Feeling the other Morty was so surprising for the shade that he had no idea what to do. His shadowy hands just wrapped around the ghostly ones of his opponent and tried to pry them off again. "I've had it with you!" Mascot Morty finally snapped and managed to throw the attached fanboy to the ground. Not wasting any precious time, he used the moment of surprise to pummel his enemy who still needed to recover from falling on the ground. Super Fan Morty squeaked as his enemy really began to lay into him. A-22β6 made the mistake that he was inching slowly towards his opponent instead of just lunging at him. Because if he had done that he might have been able to land the first hit. As it was though, the Mermaid Morty was the one, who beat him to it now. At Mysterious Rick's command, he quickly slipped over the ground like a sea snake through water and whacked the shy boy with his tail. The fishy Morty kept attacking with his fin unrelenting even if his opponent squealed and whimpered in pain from the onslaught. K-4872 still tried to wrestle his opponent to the ground, who didn't let up in his ferociousness – quite the opposite actually. As soon as Mysterious Rick told him to keep going, the animal-like Morty only continued to bite harder. K-4872 was getting convinced that this wasn't entirely Rick C-777's doing. There really was something wrong with this whacky Morty and it didn't just had to do with the chip. The Morty in the green vest growled as he fought back harder than ever now. As if he would get defeated by a lunatic! The Hobo Morty may have only looked angry at the female Mortys response, but he seemed to have gotten really enraged as soon as his Rick gave him the order to quit stalling and finally attack. Morticia squeaked and tried her best to evade as her opponent finally got in gear and tried to attack her. Normally she would have already countered, but her stinking counterpart was still grossing her out too much. However, it was probably also a good think because it kept her motivated to dodge all of his oncoming attacks. C-137's predicament meanwhile hadn't gotten any better. The initial rage of the insane Morty had turned into some obligation to follow whatever his genius grandfather ordered him to do. And if he was ordered to destroy his opponent then that was what he would do. Of course, he had no idea that Mysterious Rick didn't want C-137 getting hurt too much – really just enough so that he could take him with him without a fight after this whole battle was over – and so he was ready to kill his counterpart. Morty C-137 could feel that intention in every one of his enemy's blows – and that was really scary! "See that?" Mysterious Rick asked as he pushed with his elbow in his original Morty's side. "My Mortys are great! Nothing like you." Morty C-777 snorted. "How would you know? It's not like you have ever used me in a Morty battle. You have no frame of reference how good I really am!" Now it was his Rick's turn to snort. "What-what is that? A straight invitation to your bedroom, you little whore?" The way that Mysterious Rick had phrased it made the Morty look clearly upset again. "That bullshit might work on other Ricks, but not on me, you slut!" This was setting off a huge argument and before long, the two were bickering like an old married couple. Of course, this in turn took Mysterious Rick's attention from the ongoing battles, which probably wasn't his wisest decision. Especially since team C-137 had already proven after their battle against Shibuya Rick that they were pretty good at managing on their own and without their Ricks' orders. Morty C-137 had no intention to die at the hands of a crazy, scary Morty – well, he didn't have the intention to die by the hands of anyone, as long as he still had a say in the matter – so, he mobilized all the strength that he found in his body and pushed his opponent off again. Apparently, it was quite a lot of strength, he noticed, since the force had sent his enemy practically flying. He looked down at his own hands and wondered if the Morty battles that he went through in the past days had really been such a good training for him to become this strong. Deciding that now wasn't really the time to ponder on that – and it doesn't really matter anyways – he focused back on his opponent, who finally got up again. He charged at Rick Morty again and exchanged blows with him. While it looked like the damage that they dealt was evenly at first, it soon showed that the weird Morty was the one whose energy was quickly depleting. He looked helplessly up at Mysterious Rick who unfortunately didn't have any eyes for him since he was still arguing with his original Morty. With his Rick being blind to his plight, it didn't take much longer until he was drained and collapsed. Morticia was still busy whining and evading Hobo Morty as if he was a spider, not having made much progress in her own battle. It was only when he finally managed to grab her wrist that she completely snapped and lashed out at him. She repeatedly kept bashing on his head with her free hand until he let go while screaming loudly all the while. However, even after he released her, she didn't calm down again. Morticia was getting on the offensive and repeatedly punched him till he stumbled on the ground. Then she continued to kick him all the while yelling about how gross he is and to never touch her again. By the time that she had calmed down again, the Hobo Morty was already passed out. She flushed in embarrassment as she realized what kind of scene she must have made. Well, she won the fight. That was all that mattered, wasn't it? Morty K-4872 was still struggling against his opponent. However, fueled by his determination he finally managed to get slowly the upper hand. After pushing the other far enough off that he could use his legs, he kicked Crazy Cat Morty off of himself and got on his feet. He winced and held his wounded arm, convinced that the cat-eared brunet had actually teared a chunk of his flesh out. The feline-like Morty was even quicker up on his feet now and looked truly horrifying with all the blood around his mouth. He leapt at K-4872 again, but this time he saw the attack coming and managed to evade it. Morty K-4872 used this short time frame to scramble for his dropped gun again. After picking it up, he didn't aim at his enemy though. Instead, he decided to use the handle of his weapon to whack him in the head – every ounce of mercy was gone from him after the stunts that his counterpart had pulled on him. Crazy Cat Morty began to stagger from the injury to his head. However, K-4872 didn't give him a break to recover and hit him again. It only took three more well-placed hits until his opponent was down. K-4872 only huffed, being fed up with these Morty battles already and feeling suddenly much less sympathy for his brethren. It was just impossible for him to blame this completely on Mysterious Rick and somehow this only infatuated him more now… A-22β6 was still under attack from the merboy. The fishy tail kept whacking him repeatedly and trying to shield himself with his arms from the onslaught didn't work out very well as the hits were still very painful. For a moment, he contemplated to forfeit the fight just to end this torture. His eyes fell on his Rick's face who looked worriedly back at him, looking like he just might intervene and jump in any moment now. If Morty wasn't going to give up on his own P-78 would stop the fight, meaning that it would be a loss for them either way. His eyes then fell on his fellow Mortys who all fought against their own opponents still. He took notice that they had also been injured, but nonetheless none of them looked like they were even considering giving up. No, they kept on going with the determination to win. Inspired by that, A-22β6 found heart again. He didn't want to be a weakling and the only one who gave up in this battle! Heck, he'd been probably through so much worse stuff than all of his counterparts combined, so it would be more than just shameful if he gave up now just because of some tail-wags. At the mental image of his original grandfather, he felt anger boiling up inside of him instead of the fear that he had always felt before. He had been through that and he had defeated his nightmares. He would also be able to defeat this Morty who was practically disabled on the dry ground that he currently was on! Unwrapping his arms, instead of trying to shield himself against the oncoming attacks, he grabbed the tail and stopped the other mid-whack from continuing. Mermaid blinked at him in irritation. "Hey! Let go of my tail!" he complained. Letting go of his enemy was the last thing on A-22β6's mind. Instead, he began to twist and pull on the fishy appendage. Despite the flexibility of the fin, he managed to manipulate it in such a way that it was getting painful for his opponent. "Ouch! Ouch! Stop that!!" But he didn't stop, only twisted harder. Mermaid Morty emitted a long drawn out wail, as he was sure that something was starting to break. It was only short before the merboy passed out that A-22β6 stopped again. However, the opponent's relief was very short-lived as Morty lifted him up by his tail and finished him off by slamming him into the ground. A-22β6 panted heavily and looked quite worn out, but after looking over to his Rick and seeing that he was clearly impressed, he knew that it had been worth it. Mascot Morty was still laying into the fanboy who had gotten into a fetal position on the ground to shield himself from greater damage. This continued on until the Morty in the costume stopped again, panting and in need for a break. "Are you done now?" Super Morty Fan asked from the ground, looking like the beating hadn't fazed him at all and surprising his opponent. "You're really strong!" In his fanboyish nature, the fan sprang up and fawned over his enemy again, glomp-hugging him. The force and surprise coupled with Mascot Morty's fatigue lead to him falling backwards. Now both were laying on the ground, Super Fan Morty on top and nuzzling against his opponent, not even thinking of releasing him from his hug. "You're so strong and so cool! And since you're a Morty and wearing a Morty costume it's like you're two Mortys in one!!" His arms wound tighter and tighter around the other in his excitement. "You-you-you're like the ultimate Morty!!" Mascot Morty could only choke as the other literally squeezed all the air out of him. And frighteningly his grip only kept tightening. Caught in a literal choke-hold and with no way to free his arms or himself in any way, it was just a matter of a few short minutes until the costume-wearing Morty lost consciousness. Unfortunately, for him – even though he wasn't really awake to notice – the fanboy still didn't release him even after that. Shadow Morty still felt the tightening sensation of Phantom Morty's hand squeezing his short neck. While it was almost ridiculous since he already was dead, he still feared for his life. Even if he couldn't clearly remember his last living moments, he was sure that he didn't want to die again. He choked out a screech like the ones that he usually let lose before he went into a full-scale attack on his opponent and as always the white of his eyes turned red. It certainly confused Phantom Morty since this behavior wasn't like his own. He never had felt such a deep rage as his counterpart, only sadness after his death. However, he still refused to let go of his opponent. That soon proved to be a mistake however, since this close range just made the battle end all much quicker. Shadowy tendrils erupted from the shade's body and twined around the ghost. In shock, the phantom let go now, but it was already too late. He was slowly being encased by something like a dark cloud and unable to see anything beyond the pitch-blackness. Next, the only thing that he knew was pain. Even before the dark cloud that had surrounded both Mortys had cleared up, the bluish ghost dropped to the ground and ceased moving. Before the Colossal Head Morty had another chance to ram into him again, Judge Morty whacked him with his trusty gavel the next time that he charged straight at him. The impact made the bodiless Morty wobble through the air, who looked clearly disoriented now. Judge Morty finally got up from the ground and kept attacking his opponent. However, he wasn't using his gavel again, but attacked him verbally, listing off how many laws he had just broken by attacking an enforcer of the law and what kind of penalties he would get for that. The verbal assault combined with the strong hit to his enormous head, caused the enemy a major headache that got worse enough to the point that he eventually fainted and collapsed on the ground. C-133 was also still under the attack from the lunatic fanboy. Now that he finally got his attention, he wished that he hadn't been so eager for it. Instead of aiming to shield his face, he tried to catch his opponent's wrists to keep him from attacking further. After a few tries, he actually managed to get a hold on both of them. Locked in a stalemate now, the two Mortys looked at each other, both panting and wondering where to go from here on. The Rick fan was the first to lose his patience and struggled in the hopes that the other would let go of him again. However, C-133 was unyielding and held on tight. "Let go already!!" The fan whined. "I don't wanna be touchy with you! If I'm gonna be touchy with anyone then it's gonna be with your Rick." "What the hell are you saying?!" C-133 sounded clearly frustrated but still refused to relent on his grip. Super Rick Fan's attitude switched from annoyed to mischievous in a second. "Oh, you know exactly what I mean." He leaned over the other, his face getting so close that their noses almost touched and he wore a smug grin on his face while his eyes were half-lidded. "…and I'm sure that I'm a much better lay for your Rick than you are." He whispered in a sinister tone. C-133 was flooded by a wave of emotions at that moment. He felt disgusted by this crazy Morty who was so eager to get into those sort of activities with Ricks. Appalled by the mere suggestion that his Rick would also be into that sort of thing. Anger at the sort of Ricks who were in fact into that. And also the humiliation of having been at the hands of such Ricks and having been used in such a way. A small part of him also still felt jealous that this Morty was vying for his grandfather's rarely given attention. With a swift movement of his legs, he threw the Rick fan off of himself, who tumbled disoriented over the ground. The disorientation didn't last for long though and both Mortys were quickly on their feet again and facing each other. However, C-133 was seeing red right now, still fueled by that whirlwind of emotions and he quickly lunged at the other. The fanboy squeaked as he was the one that was thrown on the ground and pummeled now. He tried to defend himself, even tried to fight back and stop his opponent in the same way that C-133 had done to him before, but he was being completely overpowered. Super Rick Fan stood no chance at Morty's rage and was eventually beaten into submission and unconsciousness. "Looks like your precious Mortys aren't so great now, are they?" Mysterious Morty mocked as he noticed that they were getting knocked out one after the other. Mysterious Rick made a frustrated growl and opened up another portal to summon more Mortys. Another wave of eight Mortys emerged, the sleepy Morty from before informing him that these were the only ones that he could motivate to get up at this hour. Rick C-777 growled again. "Are you kidding me?! Just you wait till I get home!" "Not very loyal, your precious little darlings, huh?" Mysterious Morty was immediately at it again. And again Mysterious Rick's entire attention went to the argument. Needless to say that his backup Mortys didn't fare much better and were defeated even quicker than the other Mortys before them. Being confused by the lack of orders and not able to defend themselves against the rapid attacks of team C-137 and the others, they really stood no chance. "Looks like you're actually losing this battle." Morty C-777 said smugly. Mysterious Rick finally noticed it, too. His eyes widened as he looked at the battlefield and saw that all of his Mortys were knocked out while his opponent's Mortys stood strong and fixed him with a hardened look that equaled the look on their Ricks' faces. "No! My Mortys! Do you see what you have done?" He turned back to his original Morty again. "This is all your fault!! You fucking ruined everything again! The least you can do now is to go out there and fight them for me!" "Oh, now that you are losing, you suddenly want something from me!" The Morty instantly argued back. "You're the one who wants to be my Morty and belong to me so badly, so start becoming useful and get into the battle!" The Rick argued back. "Forget it! You made your own bed, so you have to lay in it now!" Mysterious Rick could see the other Ricks advancing on him now and since his Morty still refused to budge, he knew that this was the end of the line for him. Trying to escape was practically impossible for him even if he would try to use his portal gun. How could everything just have gone so wrong? After all of his planning. "Not such a big shot now that you can't hide behind your Mortys anymore, huh?" Rick C-137 commented as he came to a stop right in front of his villainous counterpart. Then he proceeded to beat the ever-loving crap out of Mysterious Rick. Kidnapping and raping his Morty. Stealing his portal gun and then handing it over to the Council so they would be stuck in this stupid game. Rick was sure that he was letting him feel all of the hate that he had stored up in every single blow. Morty C-777 just stood there and watched his Rick getting beaten to a pulp – not even thinking of helping his grandfather. Of course, he had completely forgotten that there was also someone present, who had a grudge against him, but he remembered as soon as Rick C-133 and P-78 were towering over him. "Well, you little shit. I hope this was all worth it." In similar fashion to C-137, C-133 began to punch and kick the Morty. No one felt even an ounce of mercy for the boy – neither the Ricks nor the Mortys who watched. The scene was suddenly interrupted by a loud shout: "Everyone freeze and hands in the air!" Three Guard Ricks and one Guard Morty quickly advanced with their weapons drawn. "Great. Now of all times the Council's puppets have to show up." C-137 muttered as he reluctantly followed the order. His Rick comrades looked likewise enthusiastic about this, but also obeyed. "This Rick and his Morty started it! They are the bad guys! We were just defending ourselves!" Morty C-137 tried to explain, not wanting them all to get into trouble for this. Sure, he understood what they did was self-justice and they should have called the police or something as soon as they had cornered the mysterious duo, but even he had to admit that what they did felt right. "We know." The Guard Morty replied, much to Morty C-137's surprise. The guard – Morty F-396 – and his Rick went over to the Mysterious Morty and handcuffed him. Likewise, the two other Ricks began to handcuff Mysterious Rick. "You are under arrest for illegal activities that fall under article 3 paragraph 4b of the Citadel Law Code as well as for kidnapping Mortys, which is article 9." The Morty began to list the crimes that the captured boy had committed against several Ricks and Mortys and also told him his rights. "Hey! Why are you arresting me?! I have nothing to do with the bullshit that this little psycho had done! If anything, I tried to stop him!" Mysterious Rick protested. "Most of the Mortys that he had kidnapped where stolen from me! I'm the victim here!!" "Oh, you've got your own bunch of crimes that you are getting arrested for now, buddy. We have just gotten a call and a direct order from the Council to catch you after what you had just tried to pull with them." Rick M-28 Δ5, who stood to his right said. As Morty F-396 looked around at the surrounding Ricks and Mortys, his eyes fell on A-22β6 and he immediately recognized him as the shy Morty back from Morty Academy. Morty A-22β6 noticed that he was staring at him and looked back at him with confusion, probably wondering if they knew each other. Of course, he couldn't recognize F-396 because of his uniform and the fact that they had met at the academy when he had been working undercover. The Guard Morty's eyes fell on P-78 now, who was standing right next to the Shy Morty. The man put his hand on his Morty's shoulder, who then looked up at his Rick and smiled and Morty F-396 had to smile, too. Even if this Rick looked kind of scary, he seemed to be nice enough to Morty A-22β6, which he was really glad for. The boy had really deserved a Rick, who would actually care for him. Rick F-396 spoke up now. "We will have to get testimonies from all of you who are currently present. So please follow us back. And don't worry, you are not in trouble or anything. As soon as we are done with the questioning you are free to go again." Morty K-4872 stood up at that. "I have done a lot of research on both of these two and gathered a lot of evidence and other material. I'm happy to share all of that with you to ensure that they will receive the proper punishment that they'll deserve." His Rick groaned at that. It was so stupid of his grandson to put this much work into all of his research without getting anything out of it. The least he could have done was to offer to sell the information that he had to them. If the Council was desperate enough – and with how much shit had went down, they must be pretty desperate right now – they would have even paid a nice sum for it. His Morty still needed to learn a lot… "Your help is very much appreciated and we would like to hear and see all of that during the hearing." Rick F-396 replied. The guards then began to lead the two culprits off. And of course, the duo had to start bickering again. "See what you got us into now, you dumb little shit?!" Mysterious Rick seethed. "Just because of the shit that you pulled, I'm going to get dragged down, too." His Morty scoffed at that. "Don't act like you're an innocent." Morty C-137 had to budge into the conversation again, still feeling pissed off from this Rick's attitude after everything that he had done to him – and most likely done to other Mortys, too. "How can you still think that what you have done was okay? In which fucked up dimension is it okay to rape someone? And not just someone, but your own grandson?!" "He's right! You old sick bastard, you do nothing but sleeping around with all of these other Mortys! What about me? You never even asked me." Mysterious Morty quickly jumped on that. "I've got no interest in you. Mortys are cute and pure, but you are impure and not cute at all. Just take a look at yourself, you little psycho!" "So, what? You don't even want me in your creepy little collection?!" "No, thank you." "I hate you!!" Everyone else practically ignored those two at this point. They were clearly both not in their right mind. "Hey! Wait a second now! I still have a few more questions before we start rolling the credits on this one." Rick C-137 dashed up to walk on the same height as the guards. "I need to know if I'm getting my portal gun back now. I mean, I have defeated this asshole who got me stuck in this stupid Pocket Morty craze. And since he defeated the Council before I got my chance, this must count, too, right?" "We'll put in a good word for you." Rick F-396 replied, not being in the position to make any promises. Of course, C-137 didn't like that answer, but was forced to follow along anyways. Which didn't mean that he couldn't harass the guards on the entire way, insisting that he really should get his portal gun back.

After the hearing was over and the Ricks and Mortys were free to go their separate ways again, the Mortys bid goodbye to each other, not sure if they would ever meet again after all of this was over now, but they still had each other's' numbers and would surely stay in contact. Rick C-137 could convince the Council to give his portal gun back and they could finally return home, too. Morty C-137 was really exhausted from their adventure and needed some time to think. He reminisced briefly over everything that had happened within the last few days as he laid in his bed. The sudden appearance of Mysterious Rick, right as he had walked out of his room. The kidnapping that followed and then the humiliation that even his own Rick hadn't been able to safe him from. Then being stuck in the dungeon since his grandpa had his portal gun stolen and then Mysterious Rick luring them on the Citadel where the Council confiscated their portal gun and forced them to participate in the Morty battles. The hunt for Mortys – first the stoic Morticia, then the weird Shadow Morty, the crazy fanboy Super Morty Fan Morty and lastly the cool and collected Judge Morty – and all of the battles against other Ricks and trainers. Well, against their Mortys, to be more precise. Also the whole investigation to find the culprit behind the illegal Morty brothels, which they also managed to solve. And lastly, the final battle against Mysterious Rick. So much had happened in such a short time and he wanted to think that he had also grown a lot over that time span. He had made new friends – even if they were other Mortys – and had become stronger and smarter and maybe a little less dependent on Rick in their adventures. But even through all of that, he was still left to deal with the aftermath of Mysterious Rick's actions. And these would appear in the form of nightmares as he would find out as soon as he fell asleep. It was kind of like King Jellybean all over again, just that it felt like it was worse this time. However, that was something that will have to be resolved at another time…

AN: And that's it! Another 10k chapter, but this is the finale, so it's only natural, right? …I have to admit though that I was really tempted to just skip over the whole battle at the end, but at this point, it feels like it's just a part of the story that shouldn't be missing. And sorry if switching between the single Morty fights back there was getting confusing or something, I just wanted to make it feel a little dynamic. So, I'm sure that you can already see that there will be more (couldn't have hinted it better at the end). So yeah, keep a look out for the aftermath story if you're interested and still want more. And yes, I am aware that there is a hole in the F-396 storyline, but I will cover the missing part in a future installment…probably… I'm nowhere near done with the "Entricked Fates" series and this was such a fun project for me. I hope that you liked it as well and found it as exciting as I did. Also my muse is still refusing to cooperate with me and my stories are a bit slow-going still (I'm just going through my folder of mostly finished stuff right now and see what I can post at the moment). By the way, I normally never ask this directly for critique, but to those of you who read the whole story without skipping over the fighting scenes: did you think that I improved on it over the course of the story a little? I mean, yes, I know that I'm still shit at writing action scenes and I will try to spare you from that in the future (…at least for a while), but I was just really curious if you got the impression that I slowly got better on it. I like to think that I improved at least a little bit, but it's probably easier for others to tell (and I know for sure that I'm not just imagining things). Many thanks in advance for letting me know what you thought of it :)

Part 11 of Entricked Fates

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Part 1 of Entricked Fates: Gotta Catch Me Some Morty

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Part 2 of Entricked Fates: Mortyfied and Rickfused

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Part 3 of Entricked Fates: Ricking the Routine

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Part 4 of Entricked Fates: Ricks will always be Ricks

oneshot

Part 5 of Entricked Fates: The Morty-Lover

oneshot

Part 6 of Entricked Fates: Second Chances AKA The Rick One For Me

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part 7 of Entricked Fates: Rickvestigating the Morty Disappearances

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Part 8 of Entricked Fates: When the Morty’s away, the Rick will play

oneshot

Part 9 of Entricked Fates: It’s Not His Ricking Fault!

oneshot

Part 10 of Entricked Fates: I Ricking Hate My Life!

oneshot

Part 12 of Entricked Fates: The Mortys and their Stories

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[the-writing-dump-bin]

Okay, so um, this is gonna have a couple parts. I don't have a title for this, but it is a Jotaro/Female Reader fic. This first part is SFW but it will get into N*SF*W in later chapters.

*UPDATE: Title is now called "Whirlpool"*

You were starting to lose hope.

Interview after interview and still no call backs.

You had put your resume out at almost anything since moving to the city. Having a few meetings, you thought the interviews were going well. Nope. It always ended with a handshake and a 'We'll call you if you get the job.'

But those calls never came. Your savings were dwindling fast.

Sitting in your apartment, you wondered if you should just take a job at a fast food restaurant in the meantime. Or better, maybe move back home where everything was familiar and comforting.

You had no friends here. Not yet anyways. You had been so wrapped up in finding a job that you didnt feel like going out to bars or clubs; the rejections making you depressed.

One Wednesday afternoon, you got a call from an unknown number.

Usually, you dont answer numbers you didnt know, but you picked it up anyway. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, is this Y/N?"

The voice was so deep; definatly a male. It sent a chill down your spine. "Y-Yes..." You said cautiously.

"My name is Jotaro Kujo, I am a marine biologist. I saw your resume at one of the places I had visited recently. You are looking for work, yes?"

Your eyes darted around the living room. This was extremely unexpected. "H-How did you see my resume?"

"I had a meeting with one of the places you applied to. Your resume was sitting on top of a stack of papers, I ended up taking it."

"Isn't that wrong?"

"Probably. But I am looking for help and thought maybe to call you. Would you be interested in coming in for an interview?"

Your breath caught in your throat.

You had been on many interviews, but for some reason, this was different. This Jotaro guy swiped your resume from someone else desk and called you. He claimed to be a marine biologist, which intrigue you. You didn't have any background in that field but you knew enough to get by.

When you didn't say anything for a moment, Jotaro asked if you were still there.

Coming back to reality, you agreed to the interview. What else did you have to lose?

"Great. Are you available tomorrow at 4pm?"

"Yes."

Jotaro gave you the address to his office which was down at the local college. You guessed he taught a couple classes there. "See you then." He hung up.

Letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, you bounced with excitement.

"I need to find something to wear!"

---

You shook with nerves as you held onto the door handle. This was the place, since on the door his name was written.

Opening it slowly, you crept inside.

The room looked bare save for the large desk in the corner. There where a couple of bookshelves, but even they were empty. Are you sure this was the place? You looked at the door you came through again.

"You must be Y/N."

That deep voice again.

You turned your head to see a very tall, broad shouldered man in a black, long sleeved turtleneck. He also wore white pants; a white hat sitting atop his head. He came into the room from the other door that you noticed that was off on the side. That must be his real office.

"Y-Yes." You extended your hand in greeting. "Thank you for inquiring about me."

Jotaro seemed to hesitate for a moment before shaking your hand. Maybe he wasn't comfortable touching strangers.

His turquoise eyes looked at you, as if studying you what kind of person you could be. But that only made you blush, making you a little more nervous than you actually were. Finally, he shook your hand.

"Right this way."

He grunted, showing you to his office that was through the door he came.

*Wow*

You thought as you looked around the room. The walls were full of his accomplishments and pictures he had to have taken of sea creatures. The office seemed a little cramped as his large desk took up a lot of space. There was more room in the first room they were in, why choose this as a work space?

"Please, sit." Jotaro waved a hand to the empty chair opposite of him on the other side of his desk.

You did as instructed, taking in his features as you did. He couldn't have been any older than twenty-nine. Your eyes went back to the plaques on his walls. He's done so much at such a young age.

"Tell me about yourself."

Jotaro's voice brought your attention back to him.

"Oh, um. Well, I moved here from my hometown in hope of starting something new. I like to follow though and get my tasks done. I graduated top of my classes in high school and college. I'm very organized with projects, making sure that it exceeds to one's expectations."

Jotaro nodded his head a little and wrote on a piece of paper. He noticed you wringing your hands. "No need to be nervous."

Embarrassed, you tucked your hands under your legs. "I'm sorry. It's just, I've been on a lot of interviews and they all fell through."

Jotaro was silent for a few minutes, shuffling through some papers he had on his left until he found what he was looking for. Your resume.

"You don't have a lot of references here. But I see you took classes in zoology."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've only really done side jobs while I was in college just to get by and save up for when I moved. I want to work with animals; I loved going to the zoo as a child and since then, I knew I wanted to work with them."

"So you know about marine life, too?"

You shrugged. "Enough to not sound dumb." You chuckled nervously.

Jotaro moved his hand over his mouth, hiding the smirk you had given him with your answer; he didn't want you too see his expression.

Composing himself, he rose from his chair, motioning for you to follow him.

Coming back to the first room, he stopped next to the empty desk.

"I'll give you a chance. This will be your space, you can do with it what you want."

Wait, what?

He just said he was giving you a chance? He was hiring you?

You looked at the desk. Seeing that you were the first thing people would see when they come in, you realized you were being hired as a secretary.

It wasn't something you were thrilled about. But you decided to take it anyways; Jotaro was the first person to offer you a job let alone hire you right on the spot. You accepted, gratefully.

"Thank you, Mr. Kujo! I promise I would do my best!"

"Good. I will see you tomorrow morning."

He shook your hand again and you parted ways.

Back at home, you cried tears of happiness. You finally found a job.

Though you had no idea how to be a secretary, you figured you could just wing it. It would be a learning experience, but just like everything else you've done, you would do your job with dedication.

---

"Good afternoon, Y/N! Is Professor Kujo in?"

You smiled at one of the other teachers that worked at the facility. "Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Westin, let me see if he's ready to see you." You buzzed Jotaro's phone. "Mr. Kujo, Mr. Westin is here to see you."

There was no answer, but Jotaro's door opened and he emerged, waving him to come in. Mr. Westin followed, shutting the door behind him. "Did you get that report from the lab back?"

Jotaro handed him a folder.

Mr. Westin nodded. "Great work, Jotaro. Are you ready for the field work coming up?"

"I will be." Jotaro grunted. "Y/N has set up hotel and anything else I needed."

"She's a helpful little angel, huh? Since she came around, your work has been flourishing."

Jotaro flicked his eyes toward the door. Just on the other side, you sat at your desk. His work load had gotten lighter in the last six months, thanks to you. He had been able to work and focus on what was important while you took care of the minor things.

Sometimes you had brought him lunch when you knew he was too wrapped up in his work to even stop to eat.

He was to be leaving in a couple days to do field research on ocean life on the coast of California for over two weeks. But something about you not being there nagged at him.

Remembering the other teacher was talking to him, he said, "Yeah. She's been a real big help."

Mr. Westin nodded and said his goodbye to you, leaving the office.

Looking up, you noticed Jotaro leaning against the door frame to his own office with his arms crossed. He was looking at you but not saying anything. That didn't surprise you, he was a quiet man. But his stare made you a little uneasy. "I-Is there something wrong, Mr. Kujo?"

The way you addressed him made his stomach do flips. It was an interesting feeling. One he hadn't felt before. "Did you make the preparations for my trip?"

"Yes, sir. Its all right here, I finished it this morning. Your flight leaves at 7 am Friday morning and your hotel is booked. Food is all taken care of and there was even some money left over if you wanted to do any shopping." You looked back at him. "Is there anything else you need me to do?"

Jotaro strode to your desk in just three steps; those long legs taking him anywhere in a flash.

"There is. Call and change the itineraries to two people."

"Two, sir?"

"You heard me. Call the airline and add another person. Call the hotel and add another room. Make sure everything accommodates for two."

"S-Sure. May I have the name of the second person so I can make sure they get everything they need?"

Jotaro turned back towards his office, saying your own name.

"Wait, what?" Your head shot up at him. "Me? You want me to go? What does a secretary like me have anything to do with this trip?"

Jotaro kept his door open as he sat back down behind his desk. You stood and followed him in. Before you could say anything, Jotaro spoke first.

"You have grown from the nervous girl that walked through here six months ago. During your interview, you said that you strive to get your tasks done and do it with dedication. I've seen that you've proved that."

You blushed. You never really got that kind of praise from your other bosses.

"You wanted to work with animals, correct?"

You nodded.

"Well, then, come with me on the trip. Learn more about marine life."

What an amazing offer! But you couldn't help but think he was really just bringing you along so you can do his minor tasks. "Thank you, Mr. Kujo, but again, why do you want to bring a secretary?"

He interlocked his fingers and brought his hands up to his face; his eyes staring at you intently. "The word 'secretary' for you leaves a bad taste in my mouth. From now on, you are my assistant. You will still have your duties as you've had, but I'm taking you on this trip to help you learn more about marine mammals."

You couldn't find the words. You were thankful for his kindness, truly. But you weren't sure about going. You started wringing your hands again.

"Yare Yare Daze." Jotaro muttered. "If you don't want to go, just say so."

"Huh? No, I mean. Um..." You decided to go for it. What harm could it do? You developed a decent friendship with your boss, and he was offering this paid trip to you. "I-I'll go."

Jotaro did his best to hide his excitement; keeping his expression neutral. "Then get to work on getting yourself on the itineraries and take the day off tomorrow to pack and get some rest. I will see you at the airport."

[antoine-roquentin]

The operation against Mayo — which was reported at the time but until now was not known to have been carried out by American mercenaries — marked a pivot point in the war in Yemen, a brutal conflict that has seen children starved, villages bombed, and epidemics of cholera roll through the civilian population. The bombing was the first salvo in a string of unsolved assassinations that killed more than two dozen of the group’s leaders.

The company that hired the soldiers and carried out the attack is Spear Operations Group, incorporated in Delaware and founded by Abraham Golan, a charismatic Hungarian Israeli security contractor who lives outside of Pittsburgh. He led the team’s strike against Mayo.

“There was a targeted assassination program in Yemen,” he told BuzzFeed News. “I was running it. We did it. It was sanctioned by the UAE within the coalition.”

The UAE and Saudi Arabia lead an alliance of nine countries in Yemen, fighting what is largely a proxy war against Iran. The US is helping the Saudi-UAE side by providing weapons, intelligence, and other support.

The press office of the UAE’s US Embassy, as well as its US public affairs company, Harbour Group, did not respond to multiple phone calls and emails.

The revelations that a Middle East monarchy hired Americans to carry out assassinations comes at a moment when the world is focused on the alleged murder of dissident journalist Jamal Khashoggi by Saudi Arabia, an autocratic regime that has close ties to both the US and the UAE. (The Saudi Embassy in the US did not respond to a request for comment. Riyadh has denied it killed Khashoggi, though news reports suggest it is considering blaming his death on a botched interrogation.)

Golan said that during his company’s months-long engagement in Yemen, his team was responsible for a number of the war’s high-profile assassinations, though he declined to specify which ones. He argued that the US needs an assassination program similar to the model he deployed. “I just want there to be a debate,” he said. “Maybe I’m a monster. Maybe I should be in jail. Maybe I’m a bad guy. But I’m right.”

Spear Operations Group’s private assassination mission marks the confluence of three developments transforming the way war is conducted worldwide:

Modern counterterrorism combat has shifted away from traditional military objectives — such as destroying airfields, gun emplacements, or barracks — to killing specific individuals, largely reshaping war into organized assassinations.

War has become increasingly privatized, with many nations outsourcing most military support services to private contractors, leaving frontline combat as virtually the only function that the US and many other militaries have not contracted out to for-profit ventures.

The long US wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have relied heavily on elite special forces, producing tens of thousands of highly trained American commandos who can demand high private-sector salaries for defense contracting or outright mercenary work.

With Spear Operations Group’s mission in Yemen, these trends converged into a new and incendiary business: militarized contract killing, carried out by skilled American fighters.

Experts said it is almost inconceivable that the United States would not have known that the UAE — whose military the US has trained and armed at virtually every level — had hired an American company staffed by American veterans to conduct an assassination program in a war it closely monitors.

One of the mercenaries, according to three sources familiar with the operation, used to work with the CIA’s “ground branch,” the agency’s equivalent of the military’s special forces. Another was a special forces sergeant in the Maryland Army National Guard. And yet another, according to four people who knew him, was still in the Navy Reserve as a SEAL and had a top-secret clearance. He was a veteran of SEAL Team 6, or DEVGRU, the sources told BuzzFeed News. The New York Times once described that elite unit, famous for killing Osama bin Laden, as a “global manhunting machine with limited outside oversight.”

The CIA said it had no information about the mercenary assassination program, and the Navy's Special Warfare Command declined to comment. A former CIA official who has worked in the UAE initially told BuzzFeed News there was no way that Americans would be allowed to participate in such a program. But after checking, he called back: “There were guys that were basically doing what you said.” He was astonished, he said, by what he learned: “What vetting procedures are there to make sure the guy you just smoked is really a bad guy?” The mercenaries, he said, were “almost like a murder squad.”

Whether Spear’s mercenary operation violates US law is surprisingly unclear. On the one hand, US law makes it illegal to “conspire to kill, kidnap, maim” someone in another country. Companies that provide military services to foreign nations are supposed to be regulated by the State Department, which says it has never granted any company the authority to supply combat troops or mercenaries to another country.

Yet, as BuzzFeed News has previously reported, the US doesn’t ban mercenaries. And with some exceptions, it is perfectly legal to serve in foreign militaries, whether one is motivated by idealism or money. With no legal consequences, Americans have served in the Israel Defense Forces, the French Foreign Legion, and even a militia fighting ISIS in Syria. Spear Operations Group, according to three sources, arranged for the UAE to give military rank to the Americans involved in the mission, which might provide them legal cover.

Despite operating in a legal and political gray zone, Golan heralds his brand of targeted assassinations as a precision counterterrorism strategy with fewer civilian casualties. But the Mayo operation shows that this new form of warfare carries many of the same old problems. The commandos’ plans went awry, and the intelligence proved flawed. And their strike was far from surgical: The explosive they attached to the door was designed to kill not one person but everyone in the office.

Aside from moral objections, for-profit targeted assassinations add new dilemmas to modern warfare. Private mercenaries operate outside the US military’s chain of command, so if they make mistakes or commit war crimes, there is no clear system for holding them accountable. If the mercenaries had killed a civilian in the street, who would have even investigated?

The Mayo mission exposes an even more central problem: the choice of targets. Golan insists that he killed only terrorists identified by the government of the UAE, an ally of the US. But who is a terrorist and who is a politician? What is a new form of warfare and what is just old-fashioned murder for hire? Who has the right to choose who lives and who dies — not only in the wars of a secretive monarchy like the UAE, but also those of a democracy such as the US?

BuzzFeed News has pieced together the inside story of the company’s attack on Al-Islah’s headquarters, revealing what mercenary warfare looks like now — and what it could become.

The deal that brought American mercenaries to the streets of Aden was hashed out over a lunch in Abu Dhabi, at an Italian restaurant in the officers’ club of a UAE military base. Golan and a chiseled former US Navy SEAL named Isaac Gilmore had flown in from the US to make their pitch. It did not, as Gilmore recalled, begin well.

Their host was Mohammed Dahlan, the fearsome former security chief for the Palestinian Authority. In a well-tailored suit, he eyed his mercenary guests coldly and told Golan that in another context they’d be trying to kill each other.

Indeed, they made an unlikely pair. Golan, who says he was born in Hungary to Jewish parents, maintains long-standing connections in Israel for his security business, according to several sources, and he says he lived there for several years. Golan once partied in London with former Mossad chief Danny Yatom, according to a 2008 Mother Jones article, and his specialty was “providing security for energy clients in Africa.” One of his contracts, according to three sources, was to protect ships drilling in Nigeria’s offshore oil fields from sabotage and terrorism.

Golan, who sports a full beard and smokes Marlboro Red cigarettes, radiates enthusiasm. A good salesman is how one former CIA official described him. Golan himself, who is well-read and often cites philosophers and novelists, quotes André Malraux: “Man is not what he thinks he is but what he hides.”

Golan says he was educated in France, joined the French Foreign Legion, and has traveled around the world, often fighting or carrying out security contracts. In Belgrade, he says, he got to know the infamous paramilitary fighter and gangster Željko Ražnatović, better known as Arkan, who was assassinated in 2001. “I have a lot of respect for Arkan,” he told BuzzFeed News.

BuzzFeed News was unable to verify parts of Golan’s biography, including his military service, but Gilmore and another US special operations veteran who has been with him in the field said it’s clear he has soldiering experience. He is considered competent, ruthless, and calculating, said the former CIA official. He’s “prone to exaggeration,” said another former CIA officer, but “for crazy shit he’s the kind of guy you hire.”

Dahlan, who did not respond to multiple messages sent through associates, grew up in a refugee camp in Gaza, and during the 1980s intifada he became a major political player. In the ’90s he was named the Palestinian Authority’s head of security in Gaza, overseeing a harsh crackdown on Hamas in 1995 and 1996. He later met President George W. Bush and developed strong ties to the CIA, meeting the agency’s director, George Tenet, several times. Dahlan was once touted as a possible leader of the Palestinian Authority, but in 2007 he fell from grace, accused by the Palestinian Authority of corruption and by Hamas of cooperating with the CIA and Israel.

A man without a country, he fled to the UAE. There he reportedly remade himself as a key adviser to Crown Prince Mohammed bin Zayed Al Nahyan, or MBZ, known as the true ruler of Abu Dhabi. The former CIA officer who knows Dahlan said, “The UAE took him in as their pit bull.”

Now, over lunch in the officers’ club, the pit bull challenged his visitors to tell him what was so special about fighters from America. Why were they any better than Emirati soldiers?

Golan replied with bravado. Wanting Dahlan to know that he could shoot, train, run, and fight better than anyone in the UAE’s military, Golan said: Give me your best man and I’ll beat him. Anyone.

The Palestinian gestured to an attentive young female aide sitting nearby. She’s my best man, Dahlan said.

The joke released the tension, and the men settled down. Get the spaghetti, recommended Dahlan.

The UAE, with vast wealth but only about 1 million citizens, relies on migrant workers from all over the world to do everything from cleaning its toilets to teaching its university students. Its military is no different, paying lavish sums to eager US defense companies and former generals. The US Department of Defense has approved at least $27 billion in arms sales and defense services to the UAE since 2009.

Retired US Army Gen. Stanley McChrystal once signed up to sit on the board of a UAE military company. Former Navy SEAL and Vice Admiral Robert Harward runs the UAE division of Lockheed Martin. The security executive Erik Prince, now entangled in special counsel Robert Mueller’s investigation into Russian election interference, set up shop there for a time, helping the UAE hire Colombian mercenaries.

And as BuzzFeed News reported earlier this year, the country embeds foreigners in its military and gave the rank of major general to an American lieutenant colonel, Stephen Toumajan, placing him in command of a branch of its armed forces.

The UAE is hardly alone in using defense contractors; in fact, it is the US that helped pioneer the worldwide move toward privatizing the military. The Pentagon pays companies to carry out many traditional functions, from feeding soldiers to maintaining weapons to guarding convoys.

The US draws the line at combat; it does not hire mercenaries to carry out attacks or engage directly in warfare. But that line can get blurry. Private firms provide heavily armed security details to protect diplomats in war zones or intelligence officers in the field. Such contractors can engage in firefights, as they did in Benghazi, Libya, when two contractors died in 2012 defending a CIA post. But, officially, the mission was protection, not warfare.

Outside the US, hiring mercenaries to conduct combat missions is rare, though it has happened. In Nigeria, a strike force reportedly led by longtime South African mercenary Eeben Barlow moved successfully against the Islamist militant group Boko Haram in 2015. A company Barlow founded, Executive Outcomes, was credited with crushing the bloody RUF rebel force in war-torn Sierra Leone in the 1990s.

But over spaghetti with Dahlan, Golan and Gilmore were offering an extraordinary form of mercenary service. This was not providing security details, nor was it even traditional military fighting or counterinsurgency warfare. It was, both Golan and Gilmore say, targeted killing.

Gilmore said he doesn’t remember anyone using the word “assassinations” specifically. But it was clear from that first meeting, he said, that this was not about capturing or detaining Al-Islah’s leadership. “It was very specific that we were targeting,” said Gilmore. Golan said he was explicitly told to help “disrupt and destruct” Al-Islah, which he calls a “political branch of a terrorist organization.”

He and Gilmore promised they could pull together a team with the right skillset, and quickly.

In the weeks after that lunch, they settled on terms. The team would receive $1.5 million a month, Golan and Gilmore told BuzzFeed News. They’d earn bonuses for successful kills — Golan and Gilmore declined to say how much — but they would carry out their first operation at half price to prove what they could do. Later, Spear would also train UAE soldiers in commando tactics.

Golan and Gilmore had another condition: They wanted to be incorporated into the UAE Armed Forces. And they wanted their weapons — and their target list — to come from uniformed military officers. That was “for juridical reasons,” Golan said. “Because if the shit hits the fan,” he explained, the UAE uniform and dog tags would mark “the difference between a mercenary and a military man.”

Dahlan and the UAE government signed off on the deal, Golan and Gilmore said, and Spear Operations Group got to work.

Back in the US, Golan and Gilmore started rounding up ex-soldiers for the first, proof-of-concept job. Spear Operations Group is a small company — nothing like the security behemoths such as Garda World Security or Constellis — but it had a huge supply of talent to choose from.

A little-known consequence of the war on terror, and in particular the 17 combined years of US warfare in Iraq and Afghanistan, is that the number of special operations forces has more than doubled since 9/11, from 33,000 to 70,000. That’s a vast pool of crack soldiers selected, trained, and combat-tested by the most elite units of the US military, such as the Navy SEALs and Army Rangers. Some special operations reservists are known to engage in for-profit soldiering, said a high-level SEAL officer who asked not to be named. “I know a number of them who do this sort of thing,” he said. If the soldiers are not on active duty, he added, they are not obligated to report what they’re doing.

But the options for special operations veterans and reservists aren’t what they were in the early years of the Iraq War. Private security work, mostly protecting US government officials in hostile environments, lacks the excitement of actual combat and is more “like driving Miss Daisy with an M4” rifle, as one former contractor put it. It also doesn’t pay what it used to. While starting rates for elite veterans on high-end security jobs used to be $700 or $800 a day, contractors said, now those rates have dropped to about $500 a day. Golan and Gilmore said they were offering their American fighters $25,000 a month — about $830 a day — plus bonuses, a generous sum in almost any market.

dahlan is a real slick fucker. last i read he was going to replace abbas as head of the PLO under MBS’ decision-making, cause he’s beloved by the gulf states. apparently that didn’t work out. murdering people is what he does best though, so of course he’s pick up work in his area of expertise.

[smokedstorybara]

I’m compiling a list of all my wips w/ summaries here to remind myself what all I should be working on and keep myself accountable - and if y’all wanna yell at me about them please do

(Also be warned there will be some spoilers in here cause I suck at non spoiler-y summaries)

Fanfics:

Dear Evan Hansen:

(Apprentice) Park Ranger Handsome part 16 (doesn’t even have a name yet I’m so sorry)

Evan and Connor’s first date!! They go to the orchard of course, and have more relationship conversation... and a picnic.

Fae Court AU

Prince Connor of the Winter Court falls in love with a human boy and acts on it, despite his parents having Rules against relationships with humans. The consequences are big but Connor and Evan weather them well.

Flash:

Soulmate AU (I’m thinking ‘Dream A Little Dream Of Me’ for series title)

A series of one-shots following the Arrowverse characters - with a bit of a focus on Team Flash and the Legends - as they find love and happiness , with some bumps along the way, in a world where you share dreams with your soulmate. Timeline is spread out from Stein and Clarissa’s first meeting to some point around mid canon.

endgame ships include Barry/Len, Hartley/Cisco, Wally/Jax, Sara/Ava, Nate/Ollie/Felicity/Lisa(it’ll make sense I promise), Iris/Caitlin/Shawna, and more

Role-reversal AU

In a world where Barry was kept strictly away from the file on his mother’s murder after he becomes a CSI he grows resentful and distrusting of law-enforcement and a little quicker to recognize that he can’t entirely fix the issues with the police from the inside. So when he wakes from a nine month coma with super speed his first thought is how much he can shove the police’s faces in the fact that the system isn’t perfect and needs to change... he becomes the world’s fastest thief - unbeatable. At least until he goes after a certain diamond at the same time as one Leonard Snart, who walks away from the encounter looking to the world like a hero and gets a sweet taste of positive press that he’s not all that eager to give up.

Harry Potter crossover

Snart and Rory go “backpacking across Europe” on a ridiculous challenge to steal one thing in each country. Their last stop is in England and they’ve set their sights on a suburb in Surrey... which leads them to noticing the treatment of the young nephew of their potential target. Being survivors of abuse themselves they decide to remove him from that environment... along with all of Vernon Dursley’s valuables. Raising a kid is hard, raising a magical kid while maintaining positions as master thieves? ...piece of cake...

Check Please:

Moving On

When Jack and Bitty go through a messy breakup their friends are torn and Bitty is uncertain about what to do, especially when he has to go back to Georgia - where he’s firmly in the closet - for summer break. He can’t talk to his family or his friends about all his conflicting feelings about what happened, so he somehow finds himself corresponding with the one person who he knows would understand - Jack’s other ex, Kent Parson. He also finds himself growing closer to the previous year’s freshmen on his college hockey team and the team’s new manager - especially when summer ends and they’re all handling the situation better than the rest of his friends - ie: behaving like nothing happened except that they’re immediately down to fight Jack at a moment’s notice.

The Umbrella Academy:

Ghost Dave (that’s what it’s called in my google docs but it’s definitely not gonna be the title of the final product)

Dave Katz has been haunting the surviving members of his unit for a couple decades when the story about the 43 women comes on the news; a story Dave had heard plenty about before he died from his lover, Klaus Hargreeves. In whose tellings of it he was one of the children born that day. He also had claimed a few times to be from the future so Dave was fairly willing to take this as proof he was telling the truth. Immediately Dave seeks out Reginald Hargreeves and the 7 of the children he adopted. Over the next 29 years Dave follows the young Klaus around, giving him advice and unconditional friendship and protection from the other ghosts the poor kid could see.

Circle Of Magic crossover

When Tris finds herself dropping out of some kind of portal in a strange land it doesn’t take her long to figure out that some mage had decided to get rid of her - and possibly her siblings - by banishing her to another world, one with advanced technology but not much by way of magic - if one didn’t count the six super-powered siblings she appeared in the middle of. At the same time, but also not, Tris’s adopted sister Sandry wound up smack dab in the center of a group calling themself The Commission who’re very interested in adding her to their ranks, she joins up but maintains suspicion. Daja, the third sister, follows a pair of assassins. And their one brother, Briar, falls into the Vietnam War alongside one freshly tortured Klaus Hargreeves. They all find their way back together eventually - with much fewer casualties than if they hadn’t been there

Harry Potter crossover 1

When an eighteen-year-old Klaus Hargreeves gets bored of being lookout on a mission in London and wanders into the bar across the street he isn’t expecting to find a best friend, but that’s exactly what happens. Lily Evans is a couple months into a break-up and still tired of her ex and his idiocy, especially after his most recent letter - a pile of stupid big enough to send her straight to her local bar. The two hit it off instantly via complaining about anything and everything and egging each other into doing the most ridiculous but fun things. Their night of fun turns sour when Klaus finds out his brother Ben died during the mission and at least one of his siblings blame him. Lily takes the broken boy back to her flat and let’s him stay with her until his visa to stay in England runs out. Thirteen years later the apocalypse is interrupted by a tired ex-professor bringing life changing news - Lily was pregnant when Klaus left England(they’d slept together a handful of times but were never more than friends with benefits), also Lily and her husband(the idiot ex who apologized and changed his behavior, Klaus was at their wedding) are dead and Klaus and Lily’s son was placed with his aunt Petunia(who Klaus has met and knows the boy never should’ve been put with) because only five people besides Lily and James knew who Harry’s father really was and the only one capable of doing anything about it had to find the wandering junkie first. Klaus handles all this about as well as a powerful veteran with a traumatic childhood can - fighting tooth and nail for custody and then raising the boy the best he can with help from his siblings and robot mom and shoving his son’s happiness and safety in the faces of everyone who did the boy wrong

Harry Potter crossover 2

Not long after the war ends Harry finds that he can’t stand staying in magical Britain any longer, so he takes his godson and moves to America. Six years later one of the kids who live across the street sneaks out his window, wearing only pjs despite the heavy snow. Harry finds himself staying up waiting for the boy to return to their street and making some hot cocoa - which he offers to the boy as soon as he sees him. It quickly becomes a Thing(tm); Klaus will sneak out his window in the middle of the night, go for a walk, and eventually wind up having hot cocoa in Harry’s kitchen. They form a strange friendship, one where Klaus has someone he knows he can go to when everything becomes too much - even if that means crawling through Harry’s window, collapsing on his floor in tears, and falling asleep on his couch, waking up just in time to get home before his absence is noticed. Three more years have passed when Harry and Teddy are idly watching tv and Harry sees a very familiar face as Reginald Hargreeves introduces ‘the inaugural class of the Umbrella Academy.’ When Klaus comes over that night Harry asks how much choice Hargreeves gave him and his siblings in their ‘heroics’. After some thought Klaus remembers how his brother Ben hadn’t wanted anything to do with what happened at the bank but was made to participate anyway. He answers honestly: they weren’t really given any. Thus begins Harry’s campaign to get custody for the kids from Hargreeves.

Original Works:

Four Elements Universe(a collection of stories set along one timeline - very far apart and with no overarching plot, just a shared world):

Sisa:

A secluded young king sneaks out of his castle and gets a job under a false identity in hope for friendship, then gives everything up to help his new friends and the rest of his people when he realizes the extent of his adviser’s corruption. Around the same time, a teenage master thief is hired to steal a specific box from the castle - and then to help another thief break her friend out of the castle dungeon - and uncovers several major secrets that might just change the fate of the kingdom.

Kings:

Bandit King Vakhtang’s life is irrevocably changed when he agrees to lend his men to a rebellion for a hefty amount of gold. Over time he finds himself growing fond of the boy prophesied to be the next king and learning just as much from his new employer about letting himself care and open up as he’s teaching the boy how to protect himself. (His best friend and lover is very proud of this growth and kinda wants to adopt the kid)

The Completely Unrelated Adventures Of Four People Who Had Nothing To Do With Each Other Beforehand:

Four teenagers in rural Texas follow a cipher they found in an old tome and discover that all four of them have magical abilities, and that their town may not be as average as they’d believed. As they delve deeper in this new world they uncover two different secret organizations and find themselves caught in the middle of a dangerous conflict over a powerful artifact - that may or may not be the kid sister of one of them.

Mythicals:

Six kids around the world each find objects - artifacts - that grant them magical transformations and abilities. Seven years later all six of them end up at the same prestigious performing arts school in New York. When they discover that they all have these artifacts and powers - and that New York and possibly the world is in danger - they team up to protect everyone else, and quickly become close friends. Though one of them has a secret that could drastically change how the others view them... and possibly risk the fate of the human race.

Eternity And Forever(this one does have an overarching plot):

Eternity Of Forever:

Back in the early years of humanity a young man goes up a mountain for his Trials of Adulthood - a series of three trials set to test a person on the traits of whichever three gods they’ve been assigned to serve - unfortunately for this boy he’s been chosen for the gods of empathy, loyalty, and love... three traits that do not come easily to him. In his desperation to pass his trials he cheats the system and gets caught. As punishment he’s cursed to live forever just on the cusp of adulthood but never reaching it, the only way to break his curse is to prove - with no possibility of dishonesty - that he’s capable of the three traits. Over the next few millennia he gets caught up in a war for the fate of all life on earth, and also somewhat adopts a maybe-alien and falls in love with a time traveler.

Throughout Eternity:

At some unknown point in the future all that’s left of the human race is a refugee colony on an island floating above the desolate remains of our planet. It’s into this that Quinton is born. But when it’s discovered that he can travel through time with just a thought he’s trained for a very important mission: to go back in time and stop the apocalypse. Shortly into his mission he meets an immortal teenager who claims to have met Quinton’s future self and who offers to help, telling him that first thing he should do is gather a team to help him - he even provides names and years. This little team becomes like a second family to Quinton, especially the pretend-aloof immortal.

Forever And After:

After the death of the closest thing he ever had to a father, Slythus finds himself applying to the superhero school the immortal had founded - despite knowing that even if he were accepted into the student body he’d never be accepted by the student body. Somehow he manages to get in... and even more impossible; manages to make friends. But even as he learns how to be good, his past is lurking on the edges of his new life and quickly becoming impossible to ignore - figuratively and literally.

Shadow Warriors:

After the dragon Svartr gets cursed protecting a village from invaders they offer their children to be trained by him - to take care of him as his condition worsens. Those selected and taught by him become known as the Shadow Warriors. Alexir was born several generations after the tradition began of sending every twelve-year-old up Svartr’s mountain for the selection and she never expected to be chosen, being much more focused on intellectual growth than physical, so when it happens it comes as a bit of a shock. She struggles to keep up with her peers in most of the lessons but refuses to give in, pushing herself to reach their level while also learning the complexities of friendship from them all.

Consequences(originally titled ‘Consequences of War’ until I realized it’s more about just consequences for actions in general - like: don’t piss off the powerful magical Being hiding out in the abandoned building):

After deliberately pissing off what they believed to be a ghost - or a false rumor more likely - a college aged idiot ends up being banished into a strange world... with a distinct change in biology(mostly in the area of hormones and primary sex characteristics). As they travel this new world in search of a way home - and back into their original form - they learn new things about themself and make interesting new friends. They find themself questioning whether they actually want their ‘old body’ back and then, when they begin to fall in love, whether they really want to return to their old world.

[multipleservicelisting]

Can Someone Please Open the Door?

WASHINGTON — It was the culminating moment of a transfer of power: President Biden and the first lady, Jill Biden, walked up the driveway to their new home late Wednesday, ascended the steps to the North Portico, waved to the crowd as a military band played “Hail to the Chief,” turned to head inside — and came face to face with a closed door.

As the world watched and a small crowd of Biden family members came up behind them, the first couple waited.

Was the president supposed to open the pair of big wooden doors himself? Had former President Donald J. Trump, who had left eight hours earlier, locked him out?

Soon enough the doors were swung open, and the Bidens entered. The awkward moment had lasted only a handful of seconds — about 10, if you time it — but it did not go unnoticed in Washington.

“There was a protocol breach when the front doors were not held open for the first family as they arrived at the North Portico,” said Lea Berman, who served as a White House social secretary for President George W. Bush.

“The delay in opening the door did puzzle me a bit,” said Betty Monkman, who was a White House curator for 30 years and helped supervise changeovers between previous administrations.

The breach turned out to be a small but curious bit of disarray in the chaotic two-and-a-half months between Election Day and Inauguration Day. Nothing was normal in the transition from the Trump to the Biden administration, and turning over the White House to new occupants was no exception.

For one, there was no chief usher to greet the Bidens when they arrived. Although it is unclear exactly what caused the delay with the doors — which are normally opened by Marine guards — the chief usher of the White House, who manages the residence, had been fired less than five hours earlier.

Timothy Harleth, the Trumps’ chief usher and a former rooms manager of the Trump International Hotel in Washington, was busy moving furniture on Inauguration Day when he was told at 11:30 a.m. that his services were no longer needed, people familiar with the process said.

The incoming president’s counsel called the White House counsel on Wednesday, according to a person familiar with the process, and said the Bidens planned to bring in their own person. Mr. Harleth’s departure was first reported by CNN.

Mr. Harleth was chosen by Melania Trump in 2017, when she was first lady. His duties included handling personnel issues and overseeing budgets for the family residence.

“He was selected because of his impressive work history and management skills,” Mrs. Trump said in 2017.

The job has traditionally been nonpolitical, but Mrs. Trump’s decision to hire a Trump Organization employee added partisanship to the role, even though Mr. Harleth tried to frame his work there as one stop in a long career in the hospitality industry. The White House job was well-compensated — former chief ushers say salaries run in the $200,000 range — but the days are long, particularly if the president is an early riser or a night owl; Mr. Trump was both. (Mr. Biden is not a morning person, people familiar with his schedule say.)

Since Election Day, Mr. Harleth had found himself in an untenable position: trying to begin preparations for a new resident in the White House, even as its occupant refused to concede that he would be leaving the premises. Mr. Trump never met with Mr. Biden at the White House, as is tradition. Mrs. Trump also never invited Dr. Biden to take a look at the residence before move-in day.

Mark Meadows, the former White House chief of staff, was unhappy with Mr. Harleth for trying to send briefing books about the residence to the Biden transition team in November, people familiar with the process said. A spokesman for Mr. Meadows did not respond to a request for comment. A spokesman for Dr. Biden also did not respond to a request for comment.

It is not clear who Dr. Biden will select to replace Mr. Harleth, although there are several deputy chief ushers who are said to still be in their roles.

“It has been an honor to serve as chief usher, a position whose loyalty is not to a specific president, but rather to the institution of the presidency,” Mr. Harleth said in a statement. “I am proud that I had the opportunity to lead the residence staff to receive the incoming first family with the utmost respect and dignity, not just for this administration, but for the future success of the office of the president.”

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[cutsliceddiced]

New top story from Time: What We Can Learn From the Near-Death of the Banana

The banana has been the subject of Andy Warhol’s cover art for the Velvet Underground’s debut album, can arguably be the most devastating item in the Mario Kart video game franchise and is one of the world’s most consumed fruits. And humanity’s love of bananas may still be on the rise, according to data from the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. On average, says Chris Barrett, a professor of agriculture at Cornell University, citing that U.N. data, every person on earth chows down on 130 bananas a year, at a rate of nearly three a week.

But the banana as we know it may also be on the verge of extinction. The situation led Colombia—where the economy relies heavily on the crop, as it does in several other countries including Ecuador, Costa Rica and Guatemala—to declare a national state of emergency in August. Banana experts around the world have raised concerns that it may be too late to reverse the damage.

The reason for the problem comes down to a single disease, but it also has far-reaching implications—and the world is watching. Even if the world’s relationship to bananas may never be the same, the lessons of the fruit can still save us from damage that could hit far beyond the produce aisle.

“The story of the banana is really the story of modern agriculture exemplified in a single fruit,” says Daniel Bebber, who leads the BananEx research group at the University of Exeter. “It has all of the ingredients of equitability and sustainability issues, disease pressure, and climate change impact all in one. It’s a very good lesson for us.”

Ninety-nine percent of exported bananas are a variety called the Cavendish—the attractive, golden-yellow fruit seen in the supermarket today.

But that wasn’t always the case. There are many varieties of banana in the world, and until the later half of the 19th century, the dominant one was called the Gros Michel. It was widely considered tastier than the Cavendish, and more difficult to bruise. But in the 1950s, the crop was swept by a strain of Panama disease, also known as banana wilt, brought on by the spread of a noxious, soil-inhabiting fungus. Desperate for a solution, the world’s banana farmers turned to the Cavendish. The Cavendish was resistant to the disease and fit other market needs: it could stay green for several weeks after being harvested (ideal for shipments to Europe), it had a high yield rate and it looked good in stores. Plus, multinational fruit companies had no other disease-resistant variety available that could be ready quickly for mass exportation.

The switched worked. As the Gros Michel was ravaged by disease, the Cavendish banana took over the world’s markets and kitchens. In fact, the entire banana supply chain is now set up to suit the very specific needs of that variety.

To the people who pay attention to such things, it wasn’t long before a case of banana déjà vu set in: the Cavendish had supplanted the Gros Michel, but—even though it had initially been selected for being disease-resistant—it was still at risk. Almost a decade ago, Dan Koeppel, author of Banana: The Fate of the Fruit That Changed the World, warned in an NPR interview that Panama Disease would return to the world’s largest banana exporters, and this time with a strain that would hit the Cavendish hard. “[Every] single banana scientist I spoke to—and that was quite a few—says it’s not an ‘if,’ it’s a ‘when,’ and 10 to 30 years,” he said. “It only takes a single clump of contaminated dirt, literally, to get this thing rampaging across entire continents.”

Sure enough, the confirmation of the presence of Tropical Race 4 (TR4), another strain of Panama disease, on banana farms in Colombia, prompted this summer’s declaration of emergency there.

“The situation is very urgent,” says Bebber.

There are any number of ways the problem can spread. When it comes to bananas, everything from truck tires to workers’ boots can be disease carriers. But the bigger problem is how hard it is to stop. Because banana farmers are overwhelmingly growing the same exact crop—the Cavendish—they were all vulnerable to the same diseases.

“A lot of people would agree that we need to move to a more diverse, more sustainable system for bananas and agriculture in general,” says Bebber, “where we don’t put all our hope into a single, genetically identical crop.”

There’s a name for this situation: monoculture, the practice of fostering just one variety of something. Monoculture has its benefits. The entire system is standard, so there’s rarely new production and maintenance processes, and everything is compatible and familiar to users. On the other hand, as banana farmers learned, in a monoculture, all instances are prone to the same set of attacks. If someone or something figures out how to affect just one, the entire system is put at risk.

And as the banana industry has begun to battle the effects of monoculture, someone else has taken notice: the tech world.

The parallel was noticed as early as the late 1990s. Stephanie Forrest, one of the early researchers in this area, commonly cites the banana problem in lectures explaining the importance of diversity in computer systems. Forrest argues that some of the most notorious software attacks in history are comparable to Panama disease’s threat to the Cavendish; uniform software systems lead to uniform vulnerabilities. For example, the 1988 Morris Worm infected an estimated 10% of all computers connected to the Internet within just 24 hours, and, more recently, the 2016 Mirai Botnet, which allowed an outside party to remotely control a network of internet-connected devices, brought down Twitter, Netflix, CNN and more.

“Monocultures are dangerous in almost every facet of life,” echoes Fred B. Schneider, a cybersecurity expert at Cornell University. “With people, of course, populations are stronger and more disease-resistant if there’s more genetic diversity. And with transportation, it’s more effective to have several different options—when a train line is shut down, if you have other choices at your disposal, like a car or another form of transit, you won’t be stuck.”

Schneider points out that software monocultures are common because, without them, using your computer would be a lot harder. Default configuration settings, for example, are the norm to help users who may not be experts in the technology they’re using. Defaults like that can protect people from some problems, but also lead to others, as all the systems using the same default are vulnerable to the same problems. Knowledge of the problem, thanks to understanding of the issues facing crops like bananas, have led technologists to take steps to introduce artificial diversity into their systems. “To make a system artificially diverse, you just rearrange its guts in ways where the differences do not affect functionality in a material way,” Schneider says. Microsoft implemented one of the first large-scale commercial developments of artificial diversity in their Windows OS system, by randomizing the internal locations where important pieces of system data were stored.

For bananas, addressing the problems caused by monoculture may be harder, as market standards and supply chains make it very expensive for fruit companies to cultivate multiple varieties.

Jan Sochor—LatinContent via Getty ImagesA Colombian worker carries crude bananas to a transport car at a banana plantation. (Photo by Jan Sochor/Latincontent/Getty Images)

Existing disease-resistant varieties haven’t made inroads on the international market, but The Honduras Foundation for Agricultural Research (FHIA) has spent more than three years working on developing a disease-resistant variety that is as close as possible to the Cavendish, so that the world’s banana infrastructure doesn’t have to be reshaped from scratch. Still, that’s a process that can take 15 to 20 years, Bebber estimates.

Genetic engineering can lead to the development of new varieties at much faster rates than traditional breeding methods, but it can also turn consumers off. However, it has been the answer to similar problems in the past—for example, when the papaya ringspot virus threatened the papaya supply in the 1990s, “the major supply shock was averted through the development of a transgenic ringspot virus-resistant papaya,” explains Cornell’s Barrett. He believes that consumers’ fears might ease if it becomes one of the only viable answers to the issues created by monoculture production. The UK-based biotech company Tropic Biosciences has received $10 million in funding to use gene-editing technology to research solutions to widespread issues with tropical crops, focusing specially on disease resistance in bananas.

And while even the most Cavendish-like of FHIA’s disease-resistant varieties, a banana known as the FHIA-18, hasn’t yet met the standards of multinational buyers, that may change, according to Adolfo Martinez, director general of FHIA. “It’s still not close enough to the Cavendish,” he says, but he thinks the crisis may convince them. “Maybe now, companies will be more interested in it.”

So, what’s next for the banana? Will it simply disappear from our diets, album covers and video games? Bebber says the banana may change, but hopes are high that it won’t completely vanish. “Science,” he says, “will find a way.” Meanwhile, tech researchers are watching—hoping they can once again learn a lesson from biology, learning how to prevent a crisis before everything goes bananas.

via https://cutslicedanddiced.wordpress.com/2018/01/24/how-to-prevent-food-from-going-to-waste

[smooth--criminal]

Nothing Lasts Forever: Part 2

To recap: my character Regina seduced a guy into her home for @underopenskies‘s character Vlad, who has just shown up.

"What are you doing here? I didn't know you had contacts in this city. There's no bad blood between us, is there?" Klaus gave Vladimir a nervous look. "Can we not talk like civilized gentlemen? You could have arranged a meeting, instead of sending your little minx out to lure me in. Though how you found me, I am not sure."

"And risk you telling Vanya where I am?" Vladimir snorted. "No, I think not." He came closer, and quietly tugged a small hammer and a chisel from one of his pockets. He settled down by Klaus's hand, and eyed the backs of his bones thoughtfully. "No, Klaus. All I want are the names of every mole you know. I want them all, and as much information as you're able to give me." "I'm not going to-" "Ah, but you will. I have plenty of time." Vladimir purred. He lined the hammer up. "Pain makes people talk. The sooner you spill everything, and I'm sure o have everything, the sooner it ends."

During all of this, she had been starting to regret actually being genuine in her offer to help Vlad. Klaus being willing to play submissive to her almost made her crack for the sake of her own pleasure, as she normally would have. She was honestly surprised at her own loyalty and had gotten close to questioning it- that is, until Vlad walked in. When Vlad walked in and she saw the fear in Klaus's gorgeous eyes. When her new companion drew a chisel and hammer. When the threats were said. She suddenly remembered what she had to gain from all of the previously abandoned effort to resist temptation.

She got to actually witness what became of her handiwork, not hear about it. She got to be involved in something bigger than petty gang rivalries. For once, she got to watch a truly interesting person work and have a hand in that work. She'd spent plenty of time making men bend at her will, but this was something brilliantly new. She hadn't felt this excited about anything since first getting involved in a gang, and this was so, so much better. She grabbed the other chair in the room- a much more comfortable one, obviously meant for herself- and seated herself against the wall facing both of the men's sides, crossing one leg over the other.

Klaus's gaze flicked to her, and panic briefly flashed over him. He squirmed in the chair. Trying to jerk his arm away, though Vlad was swift in pinning it. "A-and what about your little bird? Is she going to watch you do this to me?" She tilted her head, her gaze settling on Klaus again. She was still very able to hold eye contact with him.

"Of all the things you seem willing to do, exhibitionism isn't one of them? What's wrong with me watching?" She pouted a bit, as if she were a kid wanting to watch two boys play with their actions figures. Vlad glanced to Regina, and hummed.

"If she wishes. If she also wishes, she could join in. But that is her choice." She had no intention of joining, however. At least, not this time. Maybe if one of the targets annoyed her enough she would. That said, the purple eyes of the more intimidating skeleton locked onto the skeletal hand trying to worm out of the cuffs tightly holding him. The hammer key the chisel, and with slow and steady strokes, chips of bone began to splinter off.

Regina raised a brow. "So, the 'little bird' thing isn't just a you thing?" She decided to take it a notch up to Russian assassin terminology from personal quirk.

"Everyone has their preferred names for their contacts. Mine are my birds." Vladimir answers her honestly as he adds a small detail to a swirl near Klaus's wrist. "Vanya has always called his contacts his 'moles'." She turned her attention to Vlad's work, watching him chisel the patterns into Klaus's bones. That was unique. Each tap of the hammer drove a furrow, and each furrow was only a little bit into the bone. Not deep enough to penetrate marrow- but it was painful all the same. Klaus opened his mouth and cried out.

"Fine! Fine! I only know of Jean, Monica, and Fox. Jean works with a radio station, Monica is a sales rep, and Fox is a professor at a college." Vlad nothing, and began to chisel careful designs into the bones of his hand. He took care to to make them nice and even, blowing out the chips as he went.

"F-fuck you both." Klaus spits. His legs jerk against the cuffs holding him, and he strains, trying to break them. Regina couldn't help but giggle.

"He was much more of a gentleman before the chisel, if that's any consolation." She gave Klaus a wink, "See, I gave in a good word. I'm not all bad.~" she cooed.

"I hope he gets you, because when he does, oh, he's going to make you wish you hadn't been born. I just wish I'm going to be there to see Vanya beat your little bird until she can't ever fly again."

Vladimir lifts the chisel and used the hammer to use it and puncture a hole straight through the bone of Klaus's palm. When Klaus finishes shrieking, he pries the chisel out and starts again, working up his arm this time. "She is a lady, and you will not address her like so. Now. Names, locations, occupations. Continue." Despite not addressing it, she was actually.. grateful for Vlad sticking up for her. Demanding she be treated like a lady. She definitely wasn't used to that one. More akin to a bird than Regina was, under Vlad's artistic care of the yellow eyes skeletons arm, Klaus sang nicely. Names, locations... All sorts of things that Vladimir took mental note of.

She remained quiet as the chiseling continued, also making mental notes of every detail Klaus gave. She was sure that Vlad's memory was damn near flawless based on what she knew about his training, but she was more familiar with the area. So she supposed she might as well pay attention. When it seemed like Klaus was running out of information to give, though, she piped up. "Klaus here lives in the building under construction a few miles away from here. I supposed you would want to check that out. It's wired- but a clumsy construction worker spilled some expensive alcohol that probably screwed that up." Maybe everything did happen for a reason.

When Klaus ran low on information, Viktor listened to what Regina told him and then nodded. "Good. We will check it out then once the construction crew clears out." Klaus was trembling in the chair. Vlad had made it up to his shoulder, and his shirt had been torn, showing the lovely bone that had been chiseled into such intricate designs. His yellow eyes were focused though, all the same, and he sneered at Vlad and at Regina. He kept his comments polite. At least with Regina. "There is something fucking wrong with you if you can sit here and chisel someones arm up like you're giving a damn tattoo." Regina couldn't help but giggle when Klaus said something was wrong with Vlad. A family of assassins trained to kill by the age of four? Fucked up? Never! Couldn't even fathom it! But she kept her comments to herself this time, intent on enjoying the show.

"There is a reason why you, and all of the other non-civilian moles and birds are not indoctrinated into the family." Vladimir muses, and cleans his chisel on the man's leg. He looks at him flatly. "You cannot give what you do not know."

"You mean you're fucking tortured to teach you how to torture?" Klaus eyes the chisel near his leg with much trepidation.

"Yes. It is part of our family's schooling. I learned all I needed to know about the art of carving from my father." The chisel slid up, and trailed over his cheekbone with a flat scraping noise. Klaus flinched away from it.

Regina paid special attention when Vlad talked about himself. You cannot give what you do not know, and his father taught him to carve. Her smirk did dissipate a little at the thought of a young boy having a chisel taken to him by his own father. She couldn't imagine her own late father doing that to her brothers.. but she decided to stop thinking too deeply into it. She was now even more interested in seeing Vlad's scars, however.

Vladimir continued, "But you don't have to worry about it anymore, Klaus. You're done. You chose to work for the wrong brother. Not that I would hire someone as subpar as you anyways. I've heard of your work." Vladimir tuts. "My brother must have been desperate. All the same... Make your peace, Klaus."

Regina stood from the chair and walked back over, not to look at the designs but to be closer to Klaus. Vladimir didn't even glance up at her as she came closer. Klaus did, however. "I wasn't lying when I said I love your eyes." She said with an almost malicious grin that contrasted her compliment. "It truly is a shame that they don't last.. but I do want to see them go."

The man gave her a spiteful sneer, and then closed his eyes. They jerked open again when the chisel slid into his femur with a quick stab, making him yelp. Vladimir lifted a brow. "Eyes open. The lady wants to watch- so let her. Might as well do something useful with the last of your life." He hummed.

Regina pouted when Klaus closed his eyes, but she was grinning again tenfold when Vlad made a point to change that. The lady. She was a lady, and she wasn't the only one that had to enforce her will- at least, not right now. Klaus bore flat teeth at Vlad in an unimpressive snarl. Vladimir was quick after that. He changed out the chisel for a familiar knife, and then lined it up with the skeleton's chest. He set it to be about where his soul would be cradled at, and then plunged it down, and watched as Klaus gasped and gurgled. The knife had bit deep into the ectoplasmic part of his body, shoving through organs and soft tissue, and piercing many vital places. Vladimir rocked back on his heels, and straightened, leaving Klaus to die on his own time. It would be quick all the same. Regina's eyes didn't leave Klaus's. She didn't even flinch at Vlad's swift movement and the jolt of Klaus's body. She focused solely on those lovely yellow eyes, then watched as the eyelights faded to black. Vladimir glanced down at Regina and rolled his shoulders. "You mentioned that he was a gentleman until I started carving. He did not hurt you prior, correct?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, he didn't hurt me one bit. Opened the cab door for me and even paid the cabbie for me. He was decent company." Vladimir let out a pleased sound.

"Good. At least he knew his manners then." He hummed. He withdrew his knife once Klaus was dead, and then cleaned it on the man's pant leg.

Regina turned her attention then to the beautiful carving that Vlad had done. "... Your father did this sort of thing to you?" She asked in a neutral tone, as if she was asking about the weather. It was still strange to think of, but she didn't let her own feelings on the matter seep into her voice. At the carefully neutral toned question, Vlad glanced back at her, and looked her over. He hummed low in his throat, and then nodded slowly.

"Yes." He says. He rolled up his left sleeve a little bit, and displayed some faint marks on his radius. They didn't show up like normal scars- but looked more like he had grown out of them with time. They were small and tribal styled, not unlike the carving He had done on the skeleton bound in the chair. "My father did. He taught all of us to torture in various ways. I learned to carve from him. I was three when he gave me these." He supplied lightly.

Regina took a gentle hold of Vlad's wrist so she could tilt his arm as needed while she studied the carvings. Vlad did not have an issue with her taking hold of his wrist. He held still and let her examine him. She listened to his explanation, and while it still didn't sit right with her, having her question answered did ease her some. Vlad didn't seem to care, why should she? Not to mention the fact that they look pretty cool. "There are more, though most have faded out with time, but I lack the desire to strip down to my bare bones near a corpse." Regina giggled at what he said about stripping down.

"Oh, where's your sense of adventure?~" she teased- but necrophilia definitely wasn't on her list of kinks in any way, shape, or form. Vlad chuckled softly.

"My sense of adventure does not include being nude around dead things." He replies.

"But, speaking of the corpse," she let's go of Vlad's wrist and looks over at Klaus, "You're gonna bury him before he starts to stink, right?" Once she was done, he rolled his sleeve back down again . At her glance to Klaus, Vladimir nods. "As I said I would. It is dark still, so it is as good a time as ever to dig. If you wish to go change clothes and clean up or do whatever, I will handle the body." It was his job after all, since it was her house he was using for his base of operations.

"Good man." Regina didn't feel it right to say 'good boy' in this situation. Vladimir likely would not have appreciated being called 'good boy'. 'Good man', however, would suffice. "I do think I'll be turnin' in for the night. Want anythin' specific for breakfast?" She asked with a quirked eyebrow. "Otherwise it'll probably be pancakes." The tall skeleton tilted his head to her slightly and hummed softly. "Pancakes sound lovely, Regina. Have a good night. And I hope you sleep well. I will be up at my usual time tomorrow." Meaning early, even if he hadn't had a full night’s rest.

"Pancakes it is then." Regina turned away for a moment, walking towards the wall that had miscellaneous toys on it. After a moment's consideration she grabbed one of the vibrators from the wall. "Good night to you too, Vladimir~" she cooed casually as she walked past the other skeleton and went up the stairs to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Vladimir watched her to with only a brow that raised. Well... She was a strange woman after all. All the same, Vladimir set himself to his task of unlocking the body and then hauling it up the stairs and out towards the back yard so he could go bury him.

[maerythu]

A story about like a mafia and someone turning on the boss and doing the right thing - a prompt from a friend of mine

Bang!

A shot rang through the alley, a bright flash of light popping out before leaving the neon lights as the only light source in the alley. A body fell to the ground with a thunk and-as if on cue-the clouds cried out their tears, the water collecting the crimson blood as it flowed out from the body, some of it pooling around the man behind the murder. His hands quivered, gasping for air as his eyes stared down the lifeless body, a homeless techie who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Gun dropping from his hands, smoke still blowing out of the gun,  the murderer bolted away from the scene, the rain masking his tears as they fell from his eyes.

No looking back, the murderer dashed and dashed, shoving a couple civilians to the ground as he raced to his apartment building. No hesitation, the door bashed open as he stomped up the stairs and to his apartment door, causing a couple of unsuspecting tenants to poke their heads out to see the commotion.

Slamming the door behind him, the murderer slid down the door, letting the damn holding his tears back break. He killed a man in cold blood, but why did this matter? He’s killed dozens of men for the Family’s Father. The murderer stared at his tear-stained hands, remembering back to his initiation in the Family.

He was just another man, living on the street after wasting his earnings on upgrading his tech, adding enhanced strength to his arm and a hacking tool for his eye. All illegal, which caused him to be fired from his job and to remain on the run from the Blues. One fateful day, he caught wind of an illegal operation to grab loot from the city’s bank, enough to pay for a one-way ticket out of the hell hole. Loaded with his spare handgun and tech, the day ended with a couple of dead Blues, gang members, and a gun pointed at his own face. Gagged and blindfolded, he was brought before the Family Father, yet rather than execution, the Father hired him, noting how his skills were needed for the Family. Since then, he became known as The Enforcer, disposing of the rich, poor, and anyone in between who would go back to the Family. For a few years, The Enforcer had no reason to leave.

And then this small operation happened. It was supposed to end like any other: an ex-Family member was about to sellout the Family to the Blues, so The Enforcer was released to hunt down and silence the rat. Everything went smoothly until the rat decided to resist. Some struggling went down and before The Enforcer’s gun could land the killing blow on the rat, the rat jerked the gun-hand away, and the bullet landed in the guts of a bystander checking on the struggle. The rat himself fled the scene, leaving The Enforcer with the dying man.

Returning back to reality, The Enforcer lifted himself from the floor and shuffled to his apartment’s window, which overlooked the city from the 15th floor. The streets looked as they always did: bustling with cars on the streets, neon lights-which hid the stars from the people-advertising business from nightclubs to stripclubs and the occasional jewelery store. The people below looked like ants, their features barely able to be made out from The Enforcer’s point of view. Up above, skyscrapers were littered across the rooftops, most losing their color due to weather and little care. Only one billboard stood taller than the others. This year was election year, and a billboard for the mayor’s office stood tall, advertising another run for office for the current mayor. Oddly enough, one of the bulbs in the center was out, covering the mayor’s face in darkness. Still, it’s not like the imperfection made any difference; the mayor had been winning elections since he started running, his competition usually dropping out of the race. Last year, his biggest rival passed due to a heart attack, leaving the mayor without a rival for the spot.

Shifting away from the window, The Enforcer slowly made his way to his bed stand. The mayor had promised absolute peace and prosperity for the city, yet the unfortunate are still being abused by the wealthy, and several are having to find illegal mods just to have an edge in this city. Even Families such as The Enforcer’s run around, shooting and killing whoever they please as long as it conveniences them. The death of that homeless techie was the wake-up call. Someone needs to do what he cannot, and that someone was The Enforcer. Reaching into his bed stand for his old handgun, The Enforcer strolled out of the apartment, aiming for the Family as his first target.

Taking the familiar route through the alleys to the mansion, it only took half an hour for The Enforcer to arrive at the Family’s Mansion. Staging as a household for a wealthy entrepreneur, no Blue would suspect it as the base of operations for the largest crime family in the city.

Arriving at the gate, The Enforcer entered the code and walked right in, none of the gardeners interrupting his mission. The door to the mansion opened up to him, one the many butlers waiting for The Enforcer to enter before shutting the door behind him. Taking a minute to collect his thoughts, The Enforcer ran his hands over his jacket, feeling his holstered gun hidden inside his jacket. With new confidence, he set his sights for the Father’s office on the second floor, climbing the stairs with a small stomp with each step. As he trekked through the mansion, he passed various items of interest in display cases, from animal skulls to little trinkets. To outsiders, these are merely collections the entrepreneur found either on adventures or through trade, but those of the Family knew there were trophies from people killed and smaller crime families they extinguished.

After passing what seemed like dozens of those cases, the door to the Father’s office stood before him, seemingly towering over The Enforcer. Breathing in, he knocked on the door, exhaling with each knock. “Come in,” a gruff voice responded from the other side of the door. The door creaked open as The Enforcer stepped inside and shut the door behind him, locking it in place. The Father had his back to the door, himself staring out the window to the backyard garden.

“Ah, welcome young man. I was wondering where you had run to last night. After all, I did ask for you to immediately report back when the deed was done, but no matter. Now tell me, has the traitor been dealt with? Did he suffer in death or did he-” as the Father turned to face the Enforcer, the Father was met with a handgun pointed at his chest, a cold stare on The Enforcer’s face.

“This is for the city I live in,” he snapped as three bangs echoed in the office, three new holes appearing on the Father’s chest as the Father collapsed to the floor, blood spilling from his bullet wounds and mouth. Lowering the gun, The Enforcer whipped his head back as he heard several people gunning it to the office, some closer to it banging on the locked doors. Knowing he only had enough bullets for three more men, The Enforcer leaped and crashed through the window the Father previously looked through, landing feet-first into the garden’s pool. Resurfacing, The now-ex Enforcer swam through the pool and dashed around the mansion to the front gate. As he ran, the Family knocked the office door down, finding the Father dead on the floor and a window broken open.

Limping, yet satisfied, The ex-Enforcer, walked back to his apartment, knowing that he’s got a lot of work ahead of him if he wishes to do the city some good. Giving himself a small chuckle, he exited the alley he was traversing him before he was grabbed and shoved into the back of a limousine, no one else on the street to see or hear the kidnapping.

As the limousine drove off, the ex-Enforcer clawed at the handle and lock on the door, trying to get out.

“Calm down, my friend. You’re safe for now.” The ex-Enforcer turned to face the source of the voice, and nearly froze when his eyes rested on the mayor.

“Mayor? W-what are you-” he was interrupted as the mayor raised his hand for silence.

“Please, I know you have questions, but I want you to listen for now.” When the mayor saw he had the ex-Enforcer’s attention, he continued. “I must say, you’ve made it difficult to keep tabs on you, Mr. Enforcer. How many have you killed over the years anyways?”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I know, but we’ll get to that later. I must say, I do fancy your work, leaving a body for the Blues to find and a murder to never solve. You’ve had a perfect record up until recently.” As if to ease any confusion, the mayor pulled a gun out of his pocket, the same gun used to kill the homeless techie last night.

“We found this lying in a pool of bloody water. The Blues thought it was just any kind of gun, but I recognized it as the Enforcer’s weapon. All I had to do was wait for you to be alone before I could grab you. Although, I can’t say I was expecting you to kill the Father. I was hoping a bit more time would pass before he needed replacing.”

“Wait, what are you talking about? The Father-”

“The Father you killed was not the real Father. He was merely a stand-in. Someone to take the bullet so the real Father could continue his work freely.” These words alone set off alarms in the ex-Enforcer’s mind as several pieces began to connect.

“But this doesn’t make sense at all. This would mean that you’re-” “The real Father. You weren’t the first to figure it out, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

“But how?”

“It’s quite simple, really. Several years ago, I founded a small crime group you know as the Family. It wasn’t anything big at first, but through enough dedication and deaths, the Family expanded to be the largest criminal organization in the city. Anyone who would dare oppose us fell swiftly and quietly. It was my own criminal empire, and I almost had all of it.

“Of course, ruling the organization grew boring, so I sought a bigger game, namely the city itself. Of course, I was leading a crime family at the time, so if anyone found out, I’d be out of the race and thrown into a cell for life. To hide my identity, I faked my own death and placed a puppet as the new Father. I already had a cover identity, so to anyone else I was a normal civilian running for mayor. In secret, I used the fake Father as my voice, still issuing orders to the Family without having to do it physically. The best part is that no one, not even the Family, knows I am the real Father. Many rivals and opponents tried to stop me from being mayor on many turns, yet the Family covered them for me, even pretending to try and target me so I was not suspicious of any of the murders.”

“Why tell me this, Mayor? Aren’t you afraid your driver is going to find out?” the ex-Enforcer probed the mayor, slowly reaching for his gun.

“The driver? Of course not. He found out a while back. In fact, you two are very similar in that each of you carry the deaths of my puppets. Of course, he’s found a new purpose in life, and I am offering you the same.” As the last words left his lips, he pointed the ex-Enforcer’s criminal gun at the ex-Enforcer, a cold stare in his eyes. The ex-Enforcer froze in his tracks.

“I’m going to give you the offer, and I suggest you not move unless it’s an answer. You can either join me in my conquest for greater glory, or you can fall here. I’m not lying when I’d say it’d be a waste of your talents if you were to die now, but I wouldn’t shed a tear if you were. I may cry if I see a bloodstain on the seat, but that’s trivial compared to this. So what do you say, Mr. Enforcer? Would you like to continue living this grand life?” the mayor asked as he brought his hand out. Staring at it for a while, The ex-Enforcer’s mind raced for a decision. With a small sigh, the ex-Enforcer reached his hand out to shake his hand. As the mayor smiled, the ex-Enforcer activated the mods in his arm to rip the Enforcer gun out of the mayor’s hand, pointing the barrel at the mayor.

“I promised I’d bring peace to this city. That can’t happen so long as you live, Mr. Mayor. See you later in hell.” The ex-Enforcer pulled the trigger on the gun, a bullet slicing through the air and into the mayor’s skull. The mayor crumpled onto the seat, lifeless and blood spilling from his wounds. Using the mod in his eye, the ex-Enforcer hacked into the limo for control, setting new coordinates for the limo. Attempting to put an end to the killing in the back, the driver turned with a gun in hand, only to be shot two times by The ex-Enforcer. The driver now dead, nothing stopped the limo as it crashed through the gate of the Family’s mansion and crashed right onto the mansion’s stairs. Crawling out of the limo, The ex-Enforcer lifted himself up and watched as several Family members surrounded the limo, guns pointed at the ex-Enforcer. Looking at the mayor’s body and over at an exposed fuel tank, The ex-Enforcer aimed his gun at the tank, issuing a final declaration: “May the Devil have mercy on us all.” One final bang rang through the mansion as the bullet made contact with the tank, and the mansion went up in explosion and flame.